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University of Illinois Library
L161— O-1096
THE
KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN,
By Miss ANNA MARIA PORTER,
AUTHOR OF *' THE RECLUSE OF NORWAY," ^C, ^C. •.
" Let its pure flame
** From Virtue flow, and love can never fiil
** To warm another's bosom, so the light
" Shine manifestly forth."
Carey's Dante.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LOKBOK:
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN,
FAT£RNOST£B.-jaOW.
1817.
Printed byA.Strahan,
Printers-Street, London.
i<-:
9X3
TO
THOSE DEAR FRIENDS,
IN WHOSE DOMESTIC SOCIETY
THE PRINCIPAL PART OF THIS WOUK
WAS COMPOSED,
TffE FOLLOWING PAGES
ARE INSCRIBED,
BY THEIR VERY GRATEFUL
AND AFFECTIONATE
ANNA MARIA.
THE
KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN
CHAPTER I.
Favourably blew the vernal breezes, as
a' weather-beaten vessel steered for the
port of Genoa, late one evening, in
the year 1563. Her crew were nil on
the deck, welcoming, after an absence
of four years among distant seas, the
sight of their blue gulf, and their na-
tive city.
That majestic city was now only dimly
seen, reflected from the crystal mirror
below; for the sun had been long set,
and but the faintest purple remained in
VOL. I. B
^ THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
the western sky. Yet that reflected ob-
ject, undulating with the waves, still
possessed charms for those in whose me-
mories it was associated with ideas of
home and domestic joy. Now broken
by a crossing sail or a dashing oar ; now
uniting and forming again into the same
shapes of shadowy beauty ; now gra-
dually assuming darker and less distinct
outlines, the visionary picture at last
melted into one with the gray and uni-
form water.
But the moon rises ; and as the shout-
ing mariners approach the pharos, the
proud city is again seen in all her glory,
encircling the bay as with a diadem.
There stretches her magnificent amphi-
theatre of towers, and spires, and domes ;
of churches, and convents, and palaces !
There rise her lofty cypress groves !
There hang her aerial gardens ! There
spread her gilded trellises blushing witli
flowers and fruits; her sparkling foun-
tains, her marble terraces descending to
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. .J
the sea, her harbours crowded with gal-
lant vessels, and faer protecting hills glit-
tering with villas and with vineyards !
The broad moonHght now covers sea
and shore with a flood of molten silver ;
the white-winged vessel gleams like a
meteor as she glides swiftly onwards ;
she approaches the moles and the cita-
del— she passes them: now they recede
from her forward course, — she reaches
the port, — she casts anchor, and the
next moment all her crew are on land.
One young man, exchanging hasty
adieus with his companions, broke from
the party, and hastened forwards with
the eager step of joy. His progress was
stopped in the Strada Balbi, by a crowd
assembled before the gates of the seig-
niory. Having in vain urged his way
by vehement actions and exclamations,
he found the throng too solid to pene-
trate ; and, forced to submit, turned to-
wards a person next him, enquiring, in
no patient tone, what all this meant.
4 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
** It is the last day of the Adimaii
and Cigahi trial," replied the gentleman
he questioned.
*' The Adimari and Cigala trial 1" re-
peatedi his questioner with a look of
astonishment: " Have the goodness,
signor, to tell m^ the particulars ?"
Without remarking the very remark-
able expression which suddenly changed
the animated countenance of the stranger,
the Genoese proceeded to satisfy his cu-
riosity.
" The present dispute is about an
estate at Nervi, which was sold, some
two hundred years ago, by one of the
Cigali to one of the Adimari. It re-
mained in the hands of the Adimari
from that day till about two years ago,
when Signor Cigala laid claim to it in
right of descent from the original pos-
sessors: offering to show proof, that it
was so secured to the next of kin at the
time in which his ancestor sold it, as to
be incapable of alienation while any of
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. O
the direct line remained. Adimari sup-
ported his right to a property which his
family had fairly bought, and kept quiet
possession of for two centuries. The suit
was drawn out to great length, from the
novelty of the case, the display of proofs
and papers, the various altercations of
the lawyers, &c. ; — but to-day was an-
nounced for the termination ; and, though
the sitting is protracted to a most unsea-
sonable hour, we are all still waiting, im-
patient to know the decision of the
judges."
** They cannot give it in Cigala's fa-
vour !" exclaimed the young man, with
some degree of indignant warmth.
" Very few wish they should," rejoined
his companion ; " for it is shrewdly sus-
pected, that these vexatious family-re-
gisters have been dragged forth by Cigala
to satisfy an old grudge he bore to Adi-
mari when a youth. He might have
been contented with the triumph hie
gainf^d over him, some fifteen year<? ago,
B 3
f) THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
uhen lie ^got tlie Podestar of Corsica
from him by cabal and influence. That
Injury galled poor Adimari sorely ; but
lie was a mild man, who never showed
resentment, though he felt injury. — If
this suit end as I hope it may, it will be
a pity that the worthy signor has not
lived to see it.''
** What said you? — not lived!" ex-
claimed the young stranger in a piercing
cry of demand.
.** He died three months ago, broken
by care and grief.*' — The last words
were unheard by him to whom they were
addressed ; his head had sunk back on
the shoulder of a by-stander ; and he
must have fallen to the ground, but for
the closeness of the press.
From the ghastly fixture of his fea-
tures, the people around pronounced him
dead j and humanity soon effected, what
nothing else could have done : the sym-
pathising crowd broke asunder, pressed
on each other, opened a passage for the
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 7
persons who were endeavouring to bear
him forward to the portico of the Pa-
lazzo ; and some one recognising his
lineaments, or fancying a resemblance,
as he was borne by, whispered his name.
** It is Adimari's son !" repeated one
to another; and as they followed him
with their eyes, low murmurs of pity
succeeded to the clamour of curiosity
and impatience.
The doors, .that had so long been
watched, now flew open, and a mixed
multitude poured forth ; all wearing the
emblem of the Cigali triumphantly in
their caps.
The shouts of the one party, and the
execrations of the other, were unnoticed,
and scarcely heard by the outer crowd :
their attention had fastened upon another
object ; and they now trampled down
each other, anxious to catch a glimpse
of the sufferer, and to ascertain whether
he were indeed their fellow-citizen.
When this unfortunate son (for it was
B 4
8 THE KNIGHT OT ST. JOHN.
Cesario Adimari) opened his eyes, he
found himself principally supported by a
young man, whose prepossessing coun-
tenance was expressive of deep interest.
H^ felt this person's hand tremble in
assisting him to rise j and he observed
that his garments were sprinkled with
blood. This person tlien had held him,
while the vein had been opened which
Cesario now felt stiffening in his arm.
*< I thank you, signor t'* he said in an
agitated voice. " I thank you ail, my
countrymen I — I will go home now —
Home! where my father is not! — O
God !"
Gushing into tears as he spoke, and
unable to resist their salutary violence,
he leaned his face against one of the
gates; again he felt the cold agitated
touch of the hand which had so recently
pressed his : it was colder and more tre-
mulous than at first.
Roused by such extraordinary sym-
pathy at once into shame at thus pub-
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 9
licly displaying his feelings, and into
livelier gratitude for the compassion be-
stowed on him, Cesario was pulling his
cloke round him to depart, when, in di-
recting his eye towards the benevolent
stranger, ^^th a look that still asked his
sympathy, he saw in his cap the hated
myrtle-branch of the Cigali.
His eye changed. " You are a Cigala,
then !"
" I am."
Some of the crowd murmured, in un-
der voices, ** Giovanni Cigala."
Cesario started at the sound ; the
scathing of a glance keener than any curse
ever uttered by hatred, was all the an-
swer he vouchsafed to the son of the man
who had stripped his father of compe-
tence and life. He shook off the gra^
that would have detained him , and,
springing down the steps of the portico
with sudden strength, was out of sight,
and beneath friendly shelter, ere nature
again gave way under the shock of fuller
B 5
10 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
information, and the certainty of utter
ruin.
Many days elapsed,-— days of alternate
grief and indignation: for Cesario
raourned the loss of a parent dearer
than his life's blood ; and saw himself
reduced to beggary and dependence.
The bulk of his expected inheritance
had consisted of the estate just wrested
from him. His father was a man of
nobler pursuits than fortune : in his early
youth he had served in the fleet of the
Republic, but with more honour than
profit J and in later life he entered into
commercial speculations.
In Genoa, the gentry, and second class
of nobility, are permitted to unite mer-
cantile concerns with their boast of pa-
trician quality J and Adimari, having em-
barked in them, had ventured rather too
far in the hope of increasing the fortune
of this darling sop.
In consequence of the unjust detention
of one of his richest vessels, in a Portu-
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 1 1
guese Indian settlement, Adimari had
been induced to send his son thither,
charged with documents necessary for
the release of the ship. A voyage to the
East was, in those days, long and dan-
gerous : Cesario encountered the perils
and pains of its difficult navigation ; and
endured, afterwards, the vexation of
combating for his rights with an arbi-
trary governor, determined to keep the
prize he detained under imaginary pre-
tences.
. An act of self-defence, made by some
of the crew during a visit on shore, was
construed into a piratical attack: and
the ship and cargo being formally con-
demned as forfeited to the government
of Goa, Cesario returned to Europe,
comforting himself under this disappoint-
ment by the certainty of finding affluence
and peace at home.
But during four years, his father had
suffered many other losses ; and, the
Nervi estate gone, nothing remained to
B 6
12 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
Cesario, excepting a few olive and mul-
berry grounds at Polchiverra ; the annual
products of which would fall far short of
the sums demanded to defray the debts
contracted during his absence in this
disastrous law-suit. He was resolved,
however, to pay them ; and he instantly
made himself answerable to all the cre-
ditors.
" What madness f*' said one of his
kinsmen to him : " you are destroying
yourself, — that wretched remnant of
property, comes to you in right of your
mother's settlement ; it cannot be touch-
ed by your father's creditors : why con-
tract this needless engagement ?"
" Needless, do you call it ?" inter-
rupted Cesario ; ** needless ! to preserve
my father's name without reproach ! no l
that unspotted name is all he had left
to bequeath me ; and I will preserve the
precious legacy with my life."
" But how are you to discharge the
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 13
claims which are still against him ; a thou-
sand ducats at least "
** Are much for a man who has not
quite the sixth part of that sum to live
on ; however, with Heaven's assistance,
I will do it, or perish in prison ; and so
add another damning sin to the cata-
logue of the Cigali. I shall pledge that
estate to the Jews ; they will give me
the money, perhaps, for ten or twenty
years possession — meanwhile I must find
bread with my sword.*'
His kinsman shook his head, and with-
drew. Cesario threw himself on a seat,
and sunk into deep thought j for a while
his reflections were full of anxiety, and
the dismal future ; but they soon chang-
ed, leading him back to the days of his
childhood and his youth, to the che*
rished images of his father and his home ;
that home which was now the property
of another 1
Flattering fancy g6ntly deluded him
with a succession of beloved recollec-
14 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
tions ; which, as they continued to arise,
arose in forms of startling reality, and
made him live the past again.
In imagination he walked beneath the
lofty plane-trees that shaded the terrace
at Nervi, conversing with his father ;
now and then stopping to list the soft
laving of the tide against the steps which
led into the sea; or leaning over the
balustrade, to watch the progress of a
skiff, or the flight of a bird : the gracious
voice he was never again to hear on
earth, fell on his ear in accents of tender-
ness and instruction ; they talked of Ce-
sario*s meditated voyage, they anticipated
a joyful meeting after two years of sepa-
ration. Cesario's lips were just sealed
on his father's hand with filial fondness,
when the door of the apartment he
really sat in, opened hastily, and the
vision vanished.
Rising in disorder, he looked with in-
dignant amazement upon the person that
entered : it was Giovanni Cigala.
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 15
" What means this intrusion, sir ?**
demanded Cesario.
** It means any thing but offence,"
replied the fonner, gently, but steadily
advancing.
" You come for my thanks, perhaps,"
said the other abruptly, ** for services
rendered me in the portico of the seig-
niory ? You have them, signor. I thank
you. — I thank you ! There ! do not urge
me further."
He turned away as he concluded, and
leaned against a window frame; evidently
desirous of thus terminating the inter-
view.
Giovanni still advanced, though with
an air of respect and dignity. ** I should
not have intruded on you, signor, with
any selfish errand, earnestly as I desire
to cultivate mutual good-will ;" (Cesario
cast on him a glance of disdain ; Gio-
vanni proceeded;) ** but I come to do
you an act of justice ; to make some
16 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
compensation if possible, for what the
law has awarded to my father."
" Your father ! — name him not, if
you would have me endure your sight
a single moment. My father ! where is
he ? — in his grave ! and who rifled him
of life ? — who tore his dying embrace,
his last blessing from his wretched son ?"
The impassioned young man dashed
his forehead against his hand in a phrenzy
of recollection, and vainly tried to stifle
a groan.
Giovanni looked at him with increas-
ing commiseration ; a feeling of another
sort reddened his cheek, and altered his
voice as he said, " The cause of this in-
dignation honours you too much, signor,
for me to remind you in strong terms,
that I, too, am a son ; but you must allow
me to execute my commission : — I pray
you permit me 1"
Cesario did not answer ; his generous
soul was moved, in spite of himself, by
the noble manner of his imagined enemy ;
THE KNIGHT OF ST, JOHN, 17
he could not close his sense against the
inexpressible charm of his voice ; but he
would not trust himself to look upon
him, Giovanni's was, indeed, such a
countenance as Raphael might have
chosen for the favourite disciple of our
Lord : a serene breadth of forehead,
with ** heavenly hair," parting from it
in ample waves ; large dove-like eyes ;
and that fair composure of complexion,
which bespeaks the calm of goodness.
To this countenance was joined a figure,
of which the eminent gracefulness first
caught attention ; but, on second ob-
servation, its large proportions denoted
power, the power of strength ; and then
the gentleness of his countenance seemed
but the more gracious.
As Cesario still kept silence, Giovanni
approached him ; and weighing every
word, ere it fell from him, lest it should
wound the delicacy, or kindle the inflam-
mable passions of his unwilling hearer,
he opened his commission.
18 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
It was a request, that Cesario would
be pleased to receive the value of the
estate at Nervi ; at the same time assur-
ing him, that, although the Cigali family
could not allow the right of their title to
be disputed) (since indeed the most satis-
factory proofs of that right had been
sanctified by the decision of incorruptible
judges,) they abhorred the idea of ravish-
ing it from one who had hitherto believed
himself its undoubted heir. — What they
were content to receive at the hands of
justice, therefore, was only the power of
restoring this estate to the property from
which it had been unlawfully dismem-
bered two centuries back.
They prayed him to consider them as
its purchasers; and having had the estate
valued, Giovanni was come to prbfFer the
sum named. He would have laid a very
heavy bag of ducats on the table as he con-
cluded, had not Cesario sprung forward
with the fierceness of a tyger, and pushed
it back. ** Have your race hearts !" ex>
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 19
claimed he indignantly, " that you be-
lieve I am sprrowing over a few bags of
dross? Not all the wealth of Peru can
be a compensation to me : take back
your ducats. I would neither have sold
nor given my birth-place to any man^
and though the law has basely awarded
it to you, I JTiay die a beggar and in
prison, but never will I seal tlie triumph
of the Cigali, by accepting gold from
them as a boon."
'* I Avould your just grief were less in-
temperate!" said Giovanni patiently ;**you
would then admit that we have right on
our side, though grievous has been its
enforcement."
** I care not for right, I know not
where it lies j I seek not to discover !"
interrupted Cesario, bursting forth anew ;
" I am only certain that I would not
have acted thus by my direst foe \ there-
fore I despise ye. I know that this hate-
ful contest ruined my father's affairs, and
broke his heart, therefore I hate ye ! Go
QO THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN%
then — never let me see you more, or I
know not whither my distraction and
despair may lead me." Again he struck
his clasped hands against his forehead,
and stopped for want of breath.
" I will bear any thing from you, just
now/' said Giovanni, speaking quick
and short ; " for I see you are not your-
self. You cannot hate me, you cannot
be so unjust, you must see that I am not
a hard and merciless man.
" Oh, you court popularity perhaps !"
exclaimed Cesario, maddened by the in-
dulgence he was giving to his passions:
" 'tis ^t you do j for I can tell you, that
where my father lies buried, there lies
all the honour of your race."
••"Popularity !" murmured Giovanni, and
a tear glistened in his mildly reproachful
eye.
'Twas an injurious suspicion, and Ce-
sario had rather uttered than thought it:
he now stood gloomily silent; ashamed
of his own intemperance) yet jealous of
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 21
e\'ery feeling which could soften him in
favour of a Cigala.
Could he have known with what cou-
rageous nobleness this insulted man had
braved the anger of a worldly-minded
parent, while convincing him that human
nature called aloud for a compensation
to Cesario Adimari j could he have known
that after a long and painful stniggle,
Giovanni had finally wrested consent, by
solemnly swearing to renounce the world,
unless this feeble consolation were afford-
ed to his distressed spirit j could he have
known this, even in the heat and transport
of his passion, Cesario must have thrown
himself upon the breast of Cigala, and
besought his pardon. As it was, he
laboured with his contending emotions
in silence.
" Then, I may not hope to move your
purpose ?" asked Giovanni. ** You mo-
tion me to leave you : I will do so. But
ere I go, suffer me to entreat you, in the
name of Christian charity, not to judge
^^4 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
me SO rashly and so hardly. I am a
Cigala, it is true — the son of him by
whom fate has dealt its severest blow to
you. I even feel as if I had been instru-
mental in your misfortunes, (yet, God
knows, I am not !) and I would fain be
allowed to offer some atonement, not in
the shape of gold — not in the shape of
vain dissipation, but in that of devoted
service. In truth, I would rather win
your friendship than the love of the fair-
est woman in Italy."
He paused, somewhat overcome, and
proffered his hand. — Cesario turned
hastily round, perusing him from head
to foot with struggling feelings : but pride
and false opinion had the mastery ; and
he 5aid, bitterly, ** Perhaps you come to
rhock me with this amazing show of
goodness : — I'll not believe in it."
'' Fancy om* situations changed," said
Giovanni, earnestly ; ** how would i/ou,
then, have acted ?"
" I ! — I would have cast myself into
15
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. "^o
the sea rather than abetted such robbery
and such murder."
" Enquire of others ;" returned Gio-
vanni, his gentleness something disturbed
by this fierce accusation, and his cheek
losing its colour ; *' they will convince
you, that resumption of right is not rob-
ber}' : and, for the last charge, Heaven
only is answerable. — My father, possibly,
guessed your father's heart as ill, as you
do mine. Farewell, signer !"
. His voice faltered, but his counte-
nance had assumed an expression of
offended virtue, which approached to
awfulness j he staid not for reply : the
door closed on him ; and Cesario was left
standing in a painful confusion cf irri-
tated and self-accusing feeling.
( ^-^ )
CHAPTER II.
Giovanni retraced his way homeward
with a swelling heart, — he thought over
the scene which had just passed ; and
while he blamed the determined animo-
sity of Gesario, he found its excuse in an
ardent nature, perhaps never restrained,
and suddenly bereft of the sole object it
prized in life.
Giovanni's temper and manner might
have been supposed the results of philo-
sophical principles j but his heart had no
philosophy in it, if by that term we
are to understand the austere discipline
which extinguishes the passions, and re-
fuses even to the affections all power over
our peace.
II
THE KNIGHT Ol- ST. JOHN. S5
Concealing under the serenity of a
temper incapable of disturbance, feelings
peculiarly sensitive, and a mind highly
exalted by romantic and religious stu-
dies, Giovanni had, at a very early age,
felt the full force of the master-passion.
He was a younger son, with more graces
than wealth for his portion ; it was his
destiny to love a coquet, by whom he
was alternately tortured and transported,
till she broke her own spells by marrying
an old nobleman, whose rank and riches
ensured her that power and those plea-
sures which she rated far above the en-
joyments of the heart.
At the same period, Giovanni lost his
mother. This affliction (for he loved her
tenderly) following so immediately upon
a first disappointment, at once divorced
him from the usual interests and expect-
ations of life ; and, obeying a sudden
impulse, he enrolled himself among the
Knights of vSt. John.
The scattered remnant of that cele-
VOL. I. c
^6 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
brated order, after having for more than
four centuries been the bulwark of
Christendom ; after having shed their
noblest blood in all the wars between the
infidels and the true believers; after
having given dignity to chivalry, by the
irreproachable lives of its knights ; was
now driven from Rhodes, the ancient
throne of its glory ; despoiled of its con-
quests by the Ottoman arms, robbed of
its richest commanderies by the very
princes whom its valour had supported,
and all its possessions shrunk to the
sterile rock of Malta.
As the brothers of this celebrated order
preserved the fame of its former glory,
and the chivalric spirit by which that
glory was acquired, Giovanni repaired to
their island, with a soul burning to prove
itself worthy of their fellowship.
When he thus took upon him the obli-
gation to live a life of celibacy, and to
devote himself to the interests of reli-
gion, he had scarcely attained the age of
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. OTj
one-and-twenty. He fulfilled this obli-
gation for five years ; distinguishing him-
self in the convent by obedience and
purity of conduct, and upon service, by
zeal and intrepidity.
Mild and unaspiring in peace, in war
he was inspired with a new character j
for never did Caesar's ambition prompt
to bolder enterprise, nor Alexander's
thirst of fame lead to nobler exploits.
" Backward to mingle in detested war,
" Yet foremost when engaged ;"
and leaving a track of glory behind him,
wherever he went, he made Christendom
ring and the Ottoman power shake with
the thunder of his arms.
Meanwhile, the death of his heir made
a great revolution in the sentiments of
the elder Cigala and the destiny of his
vounger son. It was not fit to let his
honours and wealth pass to a distant
branch, while a true scion from the pa-
rent tree yet flourished. He had a
c 2
28 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
daughter, it is true ; but she was an alien
from his affection, by having clandes-
tinely married a young Frenchman, with
whom she had fled, he neither knew nor
cared to enquire whither : he was little
inclined, therefore, to let the offspring of
such a marriage inherit his property.
In consequence of these circumstances,
he procured the Pope's dispensation for
his son Giovanni (a favour not unfre-
quently sought and obtained on similar
occasions) ; and thus released from his
vow of celibacy, and obedience to a mi-
litary superior, Giovanni reluctantly re-
turned into the business and bustle of
every-day life.
Although he had long ceased to con-
sider the woman who had formerly infa-
tuated him, with any other emotion than
contempt, her tyranny rankled in his
memory ; and he shrunk from such ig-
noble bondage to another, with something
of prejudice.
This dread of a passion, which is in-
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. ^9
deed either the angel or the demon of
our lives, made him shun those gay
scenes where women hold the chief
place; and though he never expressed
his averseness to maiTiage, nor suffered
himself to believe he might eventually
disappoint his father's hope of seeing him
suitably allied, he had gone on nearly a
twelvemonth, since his return from Malta,
without evincing the slightest inclination
for any of his sprightly countrywomen.
Yet Giovanni was neither unsocial nor
melancholy. Perhaps he had more in-
ward happiness than any other man of
his age, consequently sought less from
without. He was one that loved to look
on the fair side of creation : for him,
every place had its pleasures, every sea-
SQUi its enjoyment, every prospect its
beauty, every character its excellence,
and every vexation its utility.
Accustomed to seek a beneficent cause
for every seeming hardship, when others
stopped at the saddening point of a sub-
c 3
30 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
ject, he would pursue it till it emerged in
light and consolation.
And for all subjects, there is that
cloudless region ! — every trial and ca-
lamity of the human race terminates
in this brief passage from life to immor-
tality. On that glorious immortality Gio-
vanni would muse till his heart burnt
within him ; then, while taking his soli-
tary autumnal walk, they who passed
him, and saw not the expression of his
downcast eyes, resting on the fallen
leaves over which he trod, might fancy
him wrapt in melancholy contemplation.
But so reading, they had read him ill :
for if the fading sky and withered woods
reminded him of the brevity of human
existence, the light and life within him-
self, told him that man's perishable dust
enshrines a light which the grave cannot
extinguish, and a living principle over
which death has no power.
Thus, though serious, he was not sad ;
though solitary, not unsocial 5 and the
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 31
serenity of his countenance only reflected
a just image of his soul.
Report had wronged the elder Cigala,
or rather had mistaken his character,
when it charged him with malignant
motives in his contest for the estate at
Nervi. He was actuated solely by a
selfish desire of acquisition.
The elder Adimari once held the most
lucrative post under the Doge, the po-
destat of Corsica ; Cigala coveted it, in-
trigued for, and got it. He would have
done the same thing by his best friend.
After a lapse of years, accident dis-
covered to him the family-deeds by
which he regained a right to the pro-
perty which had been unwittingly pur-
chased by the ancestor of Adimari ; his
greediness could not resist the tempt-
ation ; and deceiving himself, by ima-
gining he yielded solely to a laudable
regard for posterity, he commenced and
prosecuted the suit.
c 4
3Q THE KNIGHT OF ST, JOHN-
During its progress, Signor Adimari's
fortune suffered by great mercantile mis-
fortunes ; the suit was tedious and ex-
pensive ; his son*s absence was prolonged
far beyond the time stated for his pro-
bable return ; and, in those days, there
were no fixed modes of communication
between the two hemispheres 5 he had
heard of him but once during three
years ; and the information he sent, con-
vinced his father that the business he had
gone on would end in disappointment ^
w^earied out, therefore, with hope de-
ferred, with anxiety, with increasing debt,
with the straitening of his bountiful
spirit, and pining for his son, the im»
happy gentleman gradually drooped, and
at length died^
His death somewhat shocked the elder
Cigala ', but the impression was not
strong enough to assist the pleadings of
Giovanni, who ceased not to importune
his father to drop the suit.
The suit, however, proceeded against
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN^ 33
the executors of Signor Adimarij and
the result is known*
With little sympathy, either in their
tastes or principles, the elder and younger
Cigala lived together in common-place
harmony i Giovanni had that ascendancy
over his fatlier, which a strong mind gains
over a weak one ; that ascendancy which
controls the actions of him upon whom
it is exerted, without altering his incli-
nations ; that ascendancy which is often
submitted to in private, in deference to
public consideration.
So meekly did Giovanm' bear his no-
blest qualities, that not one party could
hate or vilify him ; and if the elder Ci-
gala were susceptible of laudable pride,
it was when he heard his son^s integrity
quoted, and liis knightly exploits ex-
tolled. While listening to praises be-
stowed on his son^ he seemed to fancy
that his own character was ennobled by
them.
Thus» making a sort of property of
c 5
34 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
Giovanni's good report and high endow-
ments, he liked him not the less for a
superiority, which would have mortified
him in any other.
In one instance, hard was the contest
between habitual respect for this excel-
lent son and habitual selfishness. For a
long time Signor Cigala resisted both
persuasions and arguments, when Gio-
vanni would have induced him to make
the offer of considering the contested
estate as a purchase ; and at last he
yielded solely from the fear of seeing
this admired son return into the bosom
of the order he had quitted.
As Giovanni now recalled the scene
which had then passed, he grieved to
think how unfairly he was estimated by
Cesario Adimari ; and to be esteemed
by Cesario Adimari, to be absolved by
him, for being allied to the person whose
triumph had been his downfall, was the
liveliest desire of Giovanni's soul.
Yet whence originated this desire ?
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 85
was it from previous representations of
that young man's filial piety *, or from a
romantic imagination ? was it from pity,
and respect, and a sense of injury sus-
tained by Cesario ; or was it from the
mere tenderness of a nature prone to
trust and to love ?
Perhaps all these causes were combined :
perhaps they were rendered more powerful
by that solitariness of the heart, which is
felt by persons endowed with warm affec-
tions, when surrounded by companions
lower than themselves in the scale of
moral and mental excellence ; and lower,
by countless fathoms, than the elevated
standard of their own imagination.
But there was another sentiment, and
a painful one, which harassed his hitherto
tranquil breast. He saw that the extre-
mity of the law is not always what would
be the judgment of equity. There was
more in the estate at Nervi, to the son
of Adimari, than its pecuniary value.
Giovanni was sensible to a ceaseless whis-
c 6
36 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
per in his heart, that his father's triumpb
was unjust. To ^em to sanction sucb
an act,, to appear to appropriate its fruits,,
stung the high honour of the Knight of
St. John to the quick; and he felt that
he could not rest day nor night, until he
had ineontiovertibly asserted his inno-
cence of the transaction, by a patient
endurance of its victim '^s natural indig-
nation, and a persevering devotedness ta
his service: till he had planted this con-
viction in the mind of the injured Adi-
mari, his own nobility of soul felt itself
stigmatised and under an impression of
disgrace.
Giovanni asked himself why he felt so^
interested in Cesario Adimari ; and these
reasons satisfied him : but he could not
so satisfactorily answer his further ques-
tion^ of what Cesario's character might
appear, if divested of the powerful inte-
rest bestowed on it by his peculiar situ-
ation.
Giovanni strove to recollect the pair-
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 3J
ticulars of Cesario's countenance, to
assist his judgment ; and he remembered
them distinctly.
It seemed to him almost an Asiatic
physiognomy : — so dark, yet so bright ;
so full of ai-dent and impetuous passion ^
so flashing, so varied, so sparkling : the
same dark-browed eye of diamond light 5.
the same clear foreliead, polished like
marble, and roimded by black and glossy
curls ^Did the same cliaracter of devour^
ing fire lie beneath ? Was it a proud
soul, that east such an air of haughty
majesty over the movements of those
youthful limbs : was it a determined
thirst for vengeance, which gave that
stern yet noble fixtui^e to a lip which
seemed made for the loves and graces to
hang on ?
And that lip, that cheek, that eye su-
preme in manly beauty, might not they
at once change their lofty character, and
become the evidences of a voluptuous-
38 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
ness too often associated with this keen
sensibility to the more stormy passions :
If experience were to answer these
questions in the affirmative, Giovanni felt
that his pure and kindly spirit could
never hold fellowship with one so differ-
ent : but if on the contrary, time should
4)rove Cesario as capable of friendship,
as of filial affection ; if it should direct
his ardour to the sublime object of self-
devotion for the advancement of his
country or of his faith ; if it should van-
quish his prejudices, by the growth of his
own virtues and wisdom ; then Giovanni
felt, that he could grapple him to his
soul with hooks of steel j and in this yet-
unconquered hope he went on his quiet
way.
The occupation of the Marino (for
such was the name of the house at
Nervi) afforded much satisfaction to
Signor Cigala : it was a constant source
of bitterness to his son. Although its
internal ornaments of furniture, pictures,
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 39
marbles, &c. had been faithfully surren-
dered to the creditors of Adimari, there
remained painful remembrances of its
former inhabitant, in many a rural embel-
lishment planned by his taste, and many
an useful building erected by him for
the comfort of his tenantry.
Giovanni often entered the cottages
of the silk-spinners and the vine-dressers,
in the hope of cultivating their good-
will, and learning how best to serve them.
At first, they received him in sullen
silence ; but after repeated visits, and
frequent attempts to draw them into
conversation, he won them at lenorth
into confidence ; and, prefacing their
discourses with some cold compliments
to their present lord, they w^ould then
lament the death of their " good signor"
in terms of sincere grief.
As they described the characters and
habits of the elder and younger Adimari,
their artless narratives presented many a
beautiful picture of domestic happiness.
40 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHJST-
It was an union so perfect, a happiness
so pure, a condition so moderate, and so
little likely to be interrupted either hy
the temptations of an elevated fortune,
or the trials of a depressed one, that
Giovanni mourned to think his father's
hand had levelled so fair a fabric with
the dust.
One of the oldest cottagers had a
chronicle of every bush and stone on
the estate* That summer-house, over-
grown with jessamines, was the place
where Signor Adimari used to take his
siesta in summer. Yon bosquet of rosesi
was planted when the young signor went-
beyond seas. Under that palisade oF
myrtles, by the great gates, the father
stood and embraced his son for the
last time. And on that terrace, he
used to walk every morning and evening-
during the year appointed for his return^
watching the ships tliat came from the
east, and still returning, tliough still disi-
appointed*
THE KNIGHT OF ST* JOHN. 41
To this terrace, Giovanni soon learned
to bend his pensive steps, whenever a
melancholy humour inclined him *' to
nurse sad fancies :" it was a walk adapt-
ed for contemplation, independent of its
association in the mind of Giovanni with
the family of Adimari.
The Marino stood upon unequal
ground, like all the villas in that pic-
turesque part of the Genoese coast ; and
its gardens, extending over a great sur-
face of irregular hills, united their sunny
slopes by a succession of terraces and
flights of steps, which led to the very
margin of the sea.
These terraces and steps, built with
the green marble of the Bochetta, were
mantled by a variety of creeping plants,
as sweet to the sense, as delightful to
the eye: the ballustrades of the steps
were hung with them as with garlands.
It had been Signor Adimari*s pleasure
to surround himself with these simple
luxuries ; and even where tlie pavement
42 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
of his terraces left no soil for a plant, he
supplied the deficiency by occasional
groupes of shrubs growing in porcelaine
or alabaster, and moveable at will.
From one of these varying groves of
gay geraniums, on the highest terrace,
rose a jet d'eau, the sound and sight of
the water of which, soothed pensiveness
rather than excited gaiety : near it
stood a magnificent cedar, its branches
shading the shattered roots of a former
companion. These roots, now over-
grown with moss and violets, formed
a fantastic yet easy seat, and had been
the favourite resting-place of Signor Adi-
mari. It soon became the evening haunt
of Giovanni.
He would bring his book and read
there ; or, in the still hour of vespers,
he would repeat the offices of that sacred
profession, never abjured by his heart,
though relinquished in obedience to his
father. Still oftener, he would pace the
cold marble, musing with fruitless pity
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 4-3
on the many sad hours the elder Adhnari
had wasted there, waiting for that son,
whose return he was destined never to
witness !
Giovanni's kindly heart calculated but
too well all the pangs of that venerable
parent. '* Here," he would say, " here,
most likely, where the marble is worn
upon the eastern edge of the ballustrade,
he has been used to lean, while regard-
ing that quarter of the horizon ; and
here, under the shade of these old myr-
tles, where the branches look brown and
blighted, perhaps the tears of the poor
father have dropped unheeded, as he sat
forlorn and lonely, vexed with the cares
of law and the disappointment of
worldly hopes ; seeking, in vain, a breast
whereon to weep, and foreboding his
own dying hour of yet sadder loneli-
ness."
In this neglected alcove Giovanni
found a volume of Virgil, which had
fallen down, and been forgotten, in times
44 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
long past. It opened of itself, at the
eleventh book, where the grief of Evan-
der, over the body of the young Pallas,
is painted with such tenderness and
beauty. The leaves of this part of the
volume were worn and discoloured, too
probably with the reader's frequent tears ;
and Giovanni, as he contemplated their
traces, scarcely doubted that with the
affliction of the venerable Evander, Adi-
mari had almost identified his own.
He had feared, then, the untimely
death of his absent son: Oh, could he
have read the book of fate, and seen his
own end was so near ! — This precious
volume was often Giovanni's companion
in his evening wanderings; and the ten-
der strains of the poet, thus associated
with the sorrows of the respectable Adi-
mari, unconsciously heightened their dig-
nity and deepened their interest.
But not in reveries of vain compas-
sion, (though by such reveries are all
our virtues nourished, and preserved fot
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 45
action,) did Giovanni pass his evening
hours. He sought to recompense his
father's new tenants for their change of
masters : he prompted, nay, he extorted
many a beneficial act from his father in
their favour ; and his own gracious man-
ner being always interposed to shield
the grudging manner of that father
from dislike or disrespect, harmony was
established, and satisfaction beginning
to appear.
Still, however, his thoughts were full
of Cesario Adimari ; and the little in-
formation he could obtain of that young
man's situation and plans troubled his
peace.
He learned that, by the sale of the per-
sonal property, and the pledging of his
land at Polchiverra, Cesario had dis-
charged the principal demands upon
him ; and that, having obtained the pro-
mise of his creditors to wait the event of
a voyage he was about to make, he was
preparing to sail in a vessel bound for
46 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN".
the Levant ; having taken on himself the
charge of superintending the disposal of
her cargo, and that of freighting her
back, in consideration of a valuable share
promised to him by her owners.
Giovanni had sought, more than .once
since their second interview, to throw
himself in his way ; but whether or no
Cesario as purposely avoided him, they
never had directly met.
This perversity of accident, far from
abating Giovanni's desire to win some
kindness from Cesario, quickened it, by
causing him to meditate but the oftener
on such pecuhar ill luck. He did so,
till this desire grew almost into a passion ;
and he would cheerfully have incurred
the risk of another, and another repulse,
had he been assured that Cesario w^ould
ever do his feelings justice, and separate
him from the hard character of his fa-
ther.
This, however, was not probable j for
Cesario was entering upon a course of
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 47
life that would hereafter cause Iiim to
pass the greater part of his time at sea ;
and, when on land, would keep him down
in a society far, far below the level of
Giovanni Cigala's station.
Giovanni never revolved these things
without a concern amounting to sorrow :
here was a young man, born in the class
of nobility, educated in the expectation
of an ample fortune, accustomed to an-
ticipate the future dignities of the Re-
public, and from general fame fitted to
win them all in succession : liberal by
habit and by nature, keenly alive to
honour and dishonour ; here was this
man, at the age of four-and-twenty, sud-
denly sunk to poverty, and forced to
seek the means of preserving his father's
memory from popular reproach by em-
bracing the humblest post of mercantile
employment.
Unfitted by his former education and
habits to sympathise with any but cul-
tured and elegant minds, he was conse-
48 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
quently cutoff from the dearest affections
of man, friendship and love; or obliged
to receive an imperfect image of each, in
association without conformity of taste,
and marriage without the union of mind
with that of heart.
Could Giovanni have reversed this
hard fortune, by any sacrifice, whether
of right or generosity, he would have
done it joyfully ; but it was impossible
for him to deny, that legal forms, and a
worldly view of right, furnished too many
arguments for an obligation on the head
of the chief of the Cigali, to regain the
property which had been alienated from
them in times past; and it was in vain
that he spoke of a superior law com-
prised in that simple and sublime maxim
of the meek Jesus, ** Do as thou wouldest
be done unto."
His father, yielding through a mixture
of dastardliness and respect in less im-
portant matters, where it imported no
one to support him, had been obstinate
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 49
in this : for nearly all of his name, having
a remote interest in the family-aggrandise-
ment, and being in the line of succession,
fortified his sordid arguments by their
opinions ; and thus dro\vned the single
generous voice of the immediate heir.
Giovanni, therefore, could do no more
than lament that his will was unaccom-
panied by power ; and lie in wait for some
happy opportunity of serving the injured
Cesario in despite of himself.
VOL. I. D
( 50 )
CHAPTER III.
oiGNOR Cigala had been settled above
two months at the Marino, when, that
object obtained, he became a candidate
for the Prociiratorship, the second dig-
nity in the Repubhc.
During the progress of the election, he
frequently remained in the city ; leaving
his son to the calm enjoyment of rural
pleasures, and those higher gratifications
connected with the study of ancient worth,
and the well-being of his dependants.
During one of these solitary periods,
Giovanni was returning from a long
ramble along the sea-shore, in haste to
avoid a storm ; (for it was the end of July,
and the thickened clouds darkened his
way ;) when having entered the demesne
15
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN 51
of the Marino, he observed a figure dart-
ing from a cypress grove into a short
walk that led to the chapel.
The person was wrapped in a cloak
evidently for concealment ; and the ra-
pidity, yet apprehensiveness of his move-
ments, made Giovanni pause and retreat
a few steps, to note whither he went.
Seeing this person still go on, he fol-
lowed him softly ; sheltering himself at
intervals under the broad shade of the
trees, lest he should be obsen^ed in his
turn.
What was his surprise to see tbis man,
(after having vainly tried the door) mount
by one of the buttresses to a window,
which, yielding to his rough shake, left
him a free passage into the interior.
The chapel, dedicated to the martyr
Stephen, was richly furnished with images
and religious vessels, composed of gold
and precious stones : it contained also the
relics of many eminent saints, and the
consecrated garments of the officiating
LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF ILUNOIS
52 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
priest. All these treasures were sacred
to every good Catholic ; but infinitely
more so, to one who had formerly vowed
to devote his life to the preservation of
the Christian faith, and whatever related
to it.
Alarmed lest this suspicious person
were one of a gang purposed to pillage
the chapel of these holy things, Giovanni
hastened to a low door at the further end
of the building, of which he remembered
having the key ; he opened it softly, and
closing it with equal caution, shut himself
in with the robber.
The stained glass of the long pointed
windows, and the shadows of the high
crocketted pinnacles which rose above
them, together with the drooping ban-
ners of the knights mouldering below,
increased the darkness of the place.
Giovanni felt for his dagger, and stood
steadily observant, behind the light
tracery of one of the shrines.
The person advanced eagerly.—-" This
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 53
— this is the spot !*' — he cried in a voice
that made Giovanni's heart thrill ; in a
voice which he could not mistake, but
which he had never before heard utter
such piercing and tender sounds. ** O my
father — and is it here I find thee !*'
It was Cesario Adimari that now cast
himself on the pavement of the chapel,
where a single square of black marble
denoted the place he sought.
He spoke no more ; but relaxed from
every sterner feeling, his tears and groans
echoed through the hollow aisles 5 and the
frequent kisses he bestowed on the in-
sensible marble, testified the love he had
borne to him who slept beneath.
Giovanni was root-bound : he would
have given his life for the power of trans-
porting himself to another scene. It was
horror to him, thus to profane ^vith sa-
crilegious eyes the sacred sorrow of a son
taking a last farewell of the ashes of a
father j to hear, perhaps, the confessions
of a soul burdened with the weight of
D 3
54 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
remembered cmiissions ; and magnifying
its frailties into crimes. He tried to move,
but bis limbs sbook under him ; be es-
sayed to speak, but utterance failed him ;
— again the doleful accents of Cesario
were heard in the chapel.
*' O my father ! thou hearest me, thdii
beholdest me in this wretched hour 1
strengthen me to bear my lonely and
altered fate — forgive me for all my past
offences against thee ! — O ask for me,
courage to resist the weakness of my own
nature, and the seductions of a race I
ought to hate — for they murdered thee."
•* Hold, Adimari!" interrupted Gio-
vanni, recovering his voice, though unable
to advance, — ** you are not alone." —
Cesario was silent for an instant with
surprise and resentment ; then hastily
starting up, he exclaimed, "What, sir,
do you persecute me even here ?" —
Giovanni briefly explained the mistake
which had led him into the chapel. He
opened the door behind him as he spoke,
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 55
and let in the little light which yet
brightened in the evening sky.
That doubtful light fell full upon the
figure of Cesario, as he stood supporting
himself against a monument ; it showed
him pale, dejected, his eyes swollen with
weeping, and all his features marked with
the languor of exhausted feelings.
That countenance was robbed of the
fire and ferocity of grief with which
Giovanni had formerly seen it agitated ;
but never had it been so affecting, never
so powerful over his sympathising heart.
He lingered ere he w^nt : and perhaps
Cesario felt the influence of that profound
interest painted in the looks of Giovanni,
and which he was desirous of shunning,
for he only motioned him to be gone,
and turned back into the aisle.
" I would you could see what is passing
here !" exclaimed Giovanni, striking his
breast with fervour, after having con»
templated him for some time in silence.
" What matters it?" asked Cesario, his
D 4
Ob THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
brow clouding ; <* what imports it to you
or me, how we think of each other ? —
you are a Cigala, I, an Adimari, the last
of the Adimari ! — a crowd of lifeless
bodies, Ihat once bore those hostile names,
lie here, 'tis true, mingled together ; but
for the sons of Paulo Cigala and Ludo-
vico Adimari so to mingle, is impossible,
either in life or death."
** Am I answerable for my birth ?'*
enquired Giovanni, hazarding a step
nearer.
*« I am no casuist,^' returned Cesario,
gloomily ; and he fixed his eyes upon the
spot where his father lay.
A long silence followed. Giovanni
almost fancied he heard heavy drops fall-
ing upon the inanimate marble : the light
was so indistinct that he could only see
at that short distance the shadowy out-
line of Cesario's figure ; but had he been
nearer, he might indeed have heard, nay,
he might have seen the big drops chasing-
one another down the pale cheeks of the
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 57
mourner, and falling like rain upon the
tomb. But though he guessed from
Cesario's silence that he wept, he was far
from guessing that he himself had any
share in such emotion.
In truth, Cesario's proud heart was
softened by the present scene; by his
previous abandonment to the tenderest
lamentations ; by the thought that he
was about to quit his country once more ;
and by the very forlornness of his own
fortune.
At such a moment, how precious would
a friend have been to him ! how inestim-
able the relief of throwing himself upon
any sympathising breast; and then suffer-
ing his grief to burst its flood-gates, and
pour out in lamentation and praises of the
object lost.
But that relief could not be ; it was a
Cigala that invited him to confidence and
affection; it was the son of the man whose
malice or avidity had caused the death of
his father: no, it could never be. Did
D 5
58 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
Giovanni speak with the tongue of an
angel, he should never turn him from
what he believed his duty — enmity to
all their race.
Suddenly steeled against the weakness
which unmanned him but a few moments
before, Cesario gathered his disturbed
garments round him with an air of severe
dignity, and said, — "I come not here,
Signor, to be the gaze of any man ; my
business was with the dead. — But I
should have asked permission to have
entered this place, I know I should : —
by heavens, I could not ask it ! — yet, I
do you justice ; and as a proof, I will ask
of you the only favour Cesario Adimari
ever asked of any man."
" Ask any thing — every thing I — I
promise!*' — exclaimed Giovanni, ar-
dently pressing towards him.
Cesario turned his brimming eyes down-
ward, — '* Preserve this piece of marble
from insult, or removal."
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 59
" So may I hope for mercy — so may
I hope at length to win your ''
" Friendship," he would have added j
but, wresting from him the hand he had
rashly taken, Cesario rushed from the
chapel ; and well knowing all the garden-
paths, soon reached the lowest terrace ;
whence leaping into a boat that waited
for him, he was half way to the vessel he
was to sail in, ere Giovanni had recovered
from his confused amazement.
D 6
( oo )
CHAPTER IV.
r IVE months after this, Cesario Adimari
returned to Genoa, one of a wretched
remnant saved from shipwreck on the
coast of Calabria.
During his eventful absence, he had
often recalled the countenance and con-
duct of the younger Cigala ; and, in spite
of himself, had done so with some regret
for the hard necessity (as he falsely
deemed it) which forbade him to indulge
any sentiment for him less potent than
averseness.
Previous to the visit he paid the burial-
place of his father, he had gone amongst
some of the oldest cottagers, and ques-
tioned them on the ruthless changes
TttE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHV. 61
which, he took it for granted, were mak-
ing in this favourite habitation.
He had heard then, with a mixture of
disappointment and reluctant pleasure,
that some improvements might be found
on the estate, but no alterations had been
made in the house or gardens. Many
had been projected by their new lord,
but every peasant could testify that
vSignor Giovanni had always an argument
or a prayer in favour of the old order of
things ; and so they remained.
Not a shrub was uprooted, nor a fancy
building pulled down, which Signor Adi-
mari had planted, or built, or frequented.
His seat under the huge cedar upon
the upper terrace, stood there still : Sig-
ner Giovanni would not let it go by any
other name. And the white owl which
had built in that cedar so many years,
he protected even her, when he was told
that Signor Adimari used to feed her.
Nay, Giovanni carried this respect for
the dead into more important concerns.
62 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
He distributed alms on the same days as
had been appointed in the time of his
predecessor ; he procured for the servi-
tors and labourers the same privileges
granted by Adimari, and he observed
the same festivals. In short, every thing
looked as it did formerly; and nothing
was missed by the neighbouring poor,
but the gracious countenance of their
ancient signor, and the charming spec-
tacle of his son's filial fondness. Poor
Giovanni had not such a father, so to love
and honour.
With these details making their way in
his heart, Cesario had gone to the tombs
of his ancestors; and, with an additional
motive for esteeming Giovanni Cigala, he
had broken from the increasing influence
of his presence ; had carried its impres-
sion with him through a fatiguing but
prosperous speculation ; and was now re-
turned with those recollections blunted,
not effaced, by subsequent misfortune.
The fruit of his toil, the foundation on
THE KXIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 63
which he hoped to build f utui'e respecta-
bility, together with the property his
employers had risked, was destroyed.
All had sunk in the richly -freighted ship
with which he was returning to Genoa ;
and at this period he was poorer and
more desperate than when he set forth.
Cesario landed in the gloom of a tliick
^vinter-fog, which had gathered after the
ship cast anchor. He took his way along
the Strada Nuova, towards the house of
a kinsman in the Piazza dell' Acqua
Verde, where he had formerly found
hospitality.
In the l6th century, even the princi-
pal cities of Italy were only lighted by
tapers burning before the images of saints
and virgins in different quarters, and by
the lamps in the porticoes of palaces and
public buildings.
Thus, while one part of a street was
glaringly illuminated, others remained in
total darkness ; making them unpleasant
and unsafe, tempting assassination by the
64 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
immediate obscurity into which a mur-
derer might rush, after having found his
victim in the brightness of some enlight-
ened colonnade.
Cesario was habitually finding his way
through streets familiar to him from in-
fancy, scarcely sensible of their greater
darkness ; when, in passing the church
of the Annonciata, he saw the door open,
and guessed by the just-kindled tapers
within, that vespers were not yet begun.
The home of the destitute is the house
of God : and whatever ceremonies are
performed there, it is there the unhappy
of every condition and every sect find
comfort and refuge. Cesario turned into-
the church.
No one was there, besides the two or
three servants of the chapels, whom he
saw at a distance through the aisles, pre-y
paring the vessels and censors.
The tapers before the different shrines,
not thoroughly lighted, threw quivering
and fitful gleams round the immediate
spots whereon they stood. The larger
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 65
branches of lights on the altar, and in
the dome, were not yet kindled ; so that
but a kind of twilight filled the church :
that sort of slowly-clearing twilight which
precedes the rising of the moon.
Imperfect as objects were, Cesario ob-
served that a chapel to the left of the
nave was hung with mourning and boughs
of cypress.
He approached, and entered it.
A bier, raised a few feet from the
ground, and surrounded by gigantic
black tapers burning in silver candela-
bras, occupied the vacant space before
the altar. In that age, it was customary
at Genoa, as it still is at Florence, to ex-
pose the dead for several days before they
are buried. Cesario drew nigh to look at
the deceased.
It was a young man bound in grave -
clothes, his golden hair encircled with a
garland of narcissus : the bier he lay on
was covered with the same pale flowers j
and, at the head of it, half lost among
66 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
large branches of myrtle, hung the
armorial bearings of his family.
Cesario stooped to examine the face*
Mighty God! he saw the features of
Giovanni Cigala! He glanced to the
shield above that motionless head : it
was the twice-crowned eagle of the
Cigali.
He staggered — he fell against the
steps of the sanctuary. Stunned with
the shock, at that moment Cesario felt
that he had never been able to hate
Giovanni.
Drawn thither, either by the exclam-
ation that had escaped Cesario, or in the
execution of his duties, one of the ser-
vitors entered the chapel. Seeing a per*
son leaning against the rails of the altar,
he stopped and said something : Cesario
recovered himself.
" Whose body is that ?'* he asked in a
voice full of dismay.
•< The body of Signor Matteo Cigala,"
replied the man.
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. Qj
** Jesu be praised 1 I thought it had
been Giovanni."
*< The kinsmen were much alike>*' re-
turned the servitor, settling some of the
furniture of the altar.
'* Then the Signor Giovanni is well ?''
asked Cesario, approaching the bier again
with a steadier step, and contemplating
the face he had so painfully mistaken.
** He was at mass here, yesterday,"
replied the man. *' Poor gentleman ! he
looks but thin and pale since the old
signor died."
"What! and is he also dead?" en-
quired Cesario, powerfully struck.
The servitor repeated his information,
with the addition of the time and circum-
stances of the elder Cigala's death.
Cesario no longer heard what was said;
his mind had rushed back to the time of
his last return after long absence, when
the destroying angel had passed over his
house, and left it desolate. There was
something striking in the resemblance of
68 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
the two periods : His true, it was only a
confused resemblance ; a similarity which
disappeared on examination ; but, at any
rate, it was a something that connected
both periods and both events 5 and it had
tlie effect of awing Cesario's dominant
passion into silence.
In another place, and told to him under
the impression of other feelings, the news
of Signor Cigala's death might have sent
a flash of gloomy joy through his breast ;
it might have seemed to him a just sacri-
fice to his father's manes : now, he pon-
dered on it without triumph ; and as he
thought of Giovanni thin and pale as
the servitor described, he muttered with
a smothered sigh, " Perhaps he loved
him 1"
The vesper bell had begun to ring
while this conversation proceeded : seve-
ral persons were already come in, and
taking their places.
Cesario hastily passed from the chapel
of the CigaU into the body of the church 5
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 69
and, mixing there with the rest of the
congregation, partook of that spiritual
refreshment which all needed, but which
none sought with more earnestness than
he.
( 70 )
CHAPTER V.
In the business of the succeeding day,
Cesaiio dissipated the most painful of
those recollections which this incident
had revived. He had to see the mer-
chants with whom he was engaged ; to
explain to them the circumstances of his
shipwreck, and to produce proofs of his
zeal and ability in the discharge of his
ill-fated commission.
The case was clearly mere misfortune ;
blame fell on no one : the merchants
W'Cre men of liberal feelings ; and, hav-
ing made up their minds to their own
loss, they oiFered Cesario the chance of
another adventure.
But Cesario was not formed for a life
of plodding calculation : he had only his
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 71
own necessities to supply ; and he re-
tained the prejudices of his birth, which,
even in a mercantile city, made it dis-
graceful for nobility to take a personal
share in commerce.
Could he obtain longer indulgence
from his father's creditors, he determined
to enter the navy of the republic : there
fortune might be more favourable to
him than in the sphere of commercial
speculation : at all events, his poverty
would then be that of a gentleman ; and
from his slender pay he might annually
set one portion apart for the liquidation
of his pecuniary engagements. But
though Cesario found sympathy and
kindness from many, his difficulties were
not of a kind to be quickly removed :
the chief obstacle lay in his own cha-
racter.
Abhon-ent of obligation, because
hitherto unused to it, he could not
brook the idea of extending the chain,
by paying his father's debts wkh money
72 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
lent to him by a friend. To accept
money as a donation, was a humiliation
that never crossed his thoughts ; nor to
such a spirit would his warmest con-
nections have dared to offer it. It was
galling enough for him to solicit time
from the persons whose claims he ac-
knowledged; it was a sufficient victory
over his proud independence, to bend it
before the necessity of claiming the hos-
pitality of a distant kinsman, whose
habitation, nevertheless, had been be-
stowed on him by the elder Adimari.
Happily, this kinsman was not a per-
son by whom obligation is pressed with
coarse freedom : he was a man in the au-
tumn of life, married, but childless; not
burdened with riches, though possessing
enough for the decent elegancies of
life. He was syndic to the senate ; and,
after the official business of the day, was
glad to find Cesario's interesting coun-
tenance, and varied discourse, added to
the sober society of his elderly wife.
' 13
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 73
From the moment Cesario came to re-
side with him, when driven from his pa-
ternal roof, the Syndic had considered
his house as his young kinsman's home :
he never thought of telHng him so, be-
cause he considered the thing impos-
sible to be doubted : it was the natural
course of relationship ; he acted upon
this worthy feeling ; and Cesario, there-
fore, did feel at home ; and believing his
gratitude gratuitous, bestowed it with
fuller measure.
The Syndic, when consulted, saw no
objection to his kinsman's choice of the
naval service : he might rise in it to
honour and fortune ; ibr his father's
name was still remembered with terror
by the enemies of Genoa, and with re-
spect by its friends.
The return of Cesario Adimari, and
Iiis increased distresses, were not long
unknown to Giovanni. He heard of his
intended application for admission into
the service ; and still anxious to assist
VOL. I. E
74 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
him, he went privately to the person who
superintended the marine in the absence
of the Prince of Melii, and obtained his
promise to place the noble adventurer in
the situation most favourable to the de-
velopment of his capacity.
Giovanni would fain have gone fai'ther,
and supplied every thing necessary for
the ample enuipment of the new sailor ;
but he remembered the fiery spirit he
had to deal with, and, afraid of alarming
its jealous delicacy, forbore to indulge
his own amiable wishes.
For some indulgence, indeed, Gio-
vanni's heart groaned. He loathed the
cumbersome wealth of which he was now
the sole possessor, since part of it was
the spoil of another's inheritance. But
how could he relieve himself from it?
An hereditary estate regained was not his
to restore ; there were numerous expect-
ants of the Cigala family to challenge
the succession ; besides which, there was
yet a probability (and Giovanni che-
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHX. '^5
rished the hope) of the inheritance being
hereafter claimed by his sister, or by her
children.
Three years had elapsed since the dis-
appearance of Amadea Cigala with the
Chevalier de Fronsac ; and as their father's
anger would not allow any extensive en-
quiries to be made after her and her
husband, Giovanni hoped that the search
he was now instituting would be siic-
cessful.
Much as he censured the action by
which she had forfeited her paternal
roof, his gentle nature found much to
excuse in the imprudent conduct of a child,
who yields to the eloquence of a young
man by whom she is adored, to avoid
an union with one of an austere character
and forbidding aspect.
AMien Giovanni embraced the profes-
sion of knighthood, his sister had just
attained her tenth year, and four years
afterwards she eloped with the Che-
valier. Thus he knew her only as an
E 2
76 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
innoGent and lovely little girl, whose
caresses used to touch, and playful spirits
amuse him : but he had none of those
extensive associations of mind and heart
with her, which form the dearest bond of
fraternal affection, and which render the
void left by its object lost, avoid never to
be filled!
He therefore prosecuted his enquiries,
rather for her sake than for his own.
In the very thick of these cares, he
heard, by an extraordinary chance, that
one of Cesario Adimari's creditors (the
only one, be it recorded for the honour
of human nature, who had not shown
the most generous forbearance) was de-"
termined to arrest his person for the pay-
ment of' his father's funeral; believing
that by this act he should force Cesario
to obtain the sum from his friends.
Without stopping to consider the effect
it might produce upon Cesario, Giovanni
hastened to discharge this debt. It was
no sooner done, than he recalled the
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. /?
proud aversion which Cesario had always
shown him ; and he, therefore, made the
persons concerned, promise never to
reveal the name of him who had satisfied
them. In the midst of various tumultuous
plans for appeasing his rapacious creditor,
and of gloomy forbodings, that by this
means he should be deprived of liberty
and honour, Cesario was surprised by the
sudden withdrawal of that demand.
He went to the creditor ; he heard
that the debt was paid, but the man de-
clined satisfying him further.
Instantly suspecting to whom he owed
this cruel obligation, Cesario questioned
the partners of the house again and agaiif.
He looked steadily in their faces, while
he deliberately named several persons by
whom it was possible this favour might
have been thrust on him.
At the name of Signor Giovanni
Cigala, he fancied their denials were
fainter, and their looks less assured. His
E S
78 THiE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHIST.
Opinion was settled ; his resolution taken ;
and he left them.
When he entered the Syndic's house,
Cesario went straight to his own apart-
ment ; where, opening a small box con-
taining the last letter and the hair of
his father, he took out the only relic he
preserved of that father, which had a
value independent of its reference to
him.
It was indeed a relic of great price :
a diamond which the immortal Doria had
wrested from the hand of a Turkish
prince, which he had worn constantly
on his finger till the invasion of Africa by
Charles V.
At that disastrous period, in the me-
morable storm which scattered the Chris-
tian fleet, and wrecked its noblest vessels
on the Moorish coast, the ship that car-
ried the young hero, Gianettino Doria,
was stranded on a point of land, and in
imminent danger of being taken by the
enemy.
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 79
The galley of his uncle the great Andrea,
(who commanded the fleet,) was labour-
ing against the same enraged elements j
and though too remote to succour his
nephew, was near enough to perceive
his peril, and partake his despair.
Knowing it impossible to save their
^hip, and preferring death to slavery, the
crew of the stranded vessel cast them-
selves into the sea, hoping to reach
such of the Imperial fleet, as yet rode out
the storm.
Meanwhile the great Andrea stood
upon the deck of his distant galley,
watching the movements of his nephew
wath torturing anxiety.
Gianettino was the only one who did
not perish at that awful moment : he was
seen clinging to an oar which he had
fortunately reached, struggling for life,
yet still gallantly retaining the flag.
A boat from the admiral's ship, (manned
with volunteers, determined to risk every
danger in the attempt to rescue the
E 4
80 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
nephew of their beloved chief,) though
launched with the utmost haste, was not
in time to meet him : exhausted by the
weight of the dripping banner, and the
fatigue of contending with the sea, he
let go his hold, and sank.
Signor Adimari, then a young and vi-
gorous man, seeing the danger of his
friend, plunged overboard from the boat;
and buiFetting the outrageous billows
with the strength of enthusiastic reso-
lution, reached the wave above which
Gianettino's bright face was raised for an
instant, — that would have been his last
look of this world, had not Adimari
grasped him by the hair. Holding his
gallant prey with one hand, with the
other he supported himself against the
roaring current, until rescued by the
boat ; whence he was transferred with
the young hero and the banner of the
Republic to the vessel of the admiral.
It was on this occasion that the vener-
able patriot exclaimed, while clasping this
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHX. iSl
beloved nephew in his arms, — ^** Heaven
has permitted thee to be in such extre-
mity, only to show the world that Andrea
Doria can shed a tear.*'
The ring Cesario now held in his
hand, had been transferred at that
moment from the finger of Andrea to
that of Adimari. It was the pledge of
their futurse friendship ; it was the me-
morial of his father's intrepidity, and of
Doria's gratitude ; it was the sacred wit-
ness of an affection between youth and
age in the persons of son and nephew,
than which neither ancient nor modern
history hath aught superior.
Yet this ring he must either part
with, merely for its intrinsic value, (which
was in truth prodigious,) and so let it
pass into the common tide of costly or-
naments ; or he must sit down under the
load of an obligation to a Cigala ; or he
must do violence to his proud nature,
and ask of the Dorias an equivalent for
E 5
82 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
the Jewel, he should offer to render back
to their family.
Each of these alternatives had its mor-
tifications, yet of one he must make
choice.
The two first he dismissed after a
short consideration 5 the last he revolved
several times.
According to every received notion,
the Doria family certainly stood indebted
to his father for a benefit which no pecu-
niary consideration could requite ; . any
present, however princely, could only be
considered a pledge of their eternal gra-
titude ; yet, since the death of the great
Andrea, the Adimari had never sought
or needed their favour.
It is true, the Podestat of Corsica had
been given to Signor Adimari by Andrea
Doria's voluntary influence ; but it had
been transferred from him to Signor
Cigala after Andrea's death ; and Adi-
mari, (hastily ascribing this mortification
to lukewarmness in his friend's successor,
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 83
Gianettino,) silently displeased, mthdrew
from those habits of intimacy which had
been the consequence of former obliga-
tion.
By thus removing himself from the
society of the Doria family, Signer
Adimari occasionally faded from their
thoughts. Gianettino, Prince of Melfi,
now admiral of the republic, and father
of a numerous family, w^as too little on
shore to spare much time for the culti-
vation of particular friendships ; and as
Signor Adimari mixed no longer in the
pubhc business of the city, he met him
too rarely for the renewal of a right
understandino;.
For some time previous, and subse-
quent to the death of his presener, the
admiral had been at sea ; whence he re-
turned not till Cesario was set forth on
his unfortunate voyage to Syria.
Since then, the prince had made many
affectionate enquiries after the son of his
old friend j and those being reported to
E 6
84 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
Cesario by the Syndic, induced him to
Tesolve on making the sacrifice of this
treasured trophy to Gianettino.
With a swelling heart and an unsteady
hand, Cesario sat down to address him as
follows : —
" TO THE PRINCE OF MELFI.
" Your Highness must have heard oi
my father's death, and of the hard decree
which occasioned it : I will not enlarge
upon the subject of my greatest grief j
it is enough that I am stripped of every
thing except honour and self-respect.
<* My father left many debts behind him,
incurred by the suit at law, and by heavy
losses at sea: I have done all in my
power to cancel these debts ; but my
means fail j and I am reduced to the
necessity of selling the only valuable 1
possess, to get rid of a pecuniary obliga-
tion which is peculiarly intolerable to
me, having been forced on me by one of
the Cigali.
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHX. 85
" The valuable I allude to is thediamond
which was given to my father in the year
1541, on the night of the l6th, I would
not have it pass into common hands ; I
would not sell it to save my life ; but the
present necessity is urgent, and I offer it
to the nephew of the great Doria for just
so many ducats as will release me from
the bondage of debt ; after that my way
is clear, — a life, or a death of glory.
" Cesario Adimari."
Whoever has trod but a third of life's
briary path, and has not looked on the
cares and calamiti-es which obstructed
his way as merely accidents, must often
have been led to remark, that during this
trying pilgrimage we are generally as-
sailed in our most vulnerable part : the
thorns pierce where our flesh is ten-
derest ; the sorrow strikes where our sen-
sibility is most acute. Mliatever be the
passion which predominates over every
other, and makes our hopes and fears
86 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
and efforts all tend towards its gratifica-
tion, it is from that quarter the severest
disappointments await us.
Thus Cesario's cherished sin was pride ;
and successive humiliations were ordained
to level that inordinate pride with the
dust. Sometimes it was to be mortified
by indignities ; sometimes it was to be
vanquished by kindness ; but till the dis-
cipline of events should finally subdue it,
never was that intention of Providence
undiscernible by a reflecting mind.
Cesario remained in a state of tumultu-
ous agitation from the time of dispatching
his letter till the return of his messenger :
now he approved, and now he condemned
the step he had taken ; alternately thought
himself too humble, or too lofty ; and
finally groaned over the days of thought-
less boyhood, when he knew money only
as a medium of bounty and pleasure.
His father's image came with bitterer
anguish to his memory, because that
sacred image was connected, not only
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 87
with his years of enjoyment, but with
those of independence.
The answering billet from Prince
Doria found him thus agitated, and still
alone ; he read its contents so rapidly,
that he might be said to have taken them
in at a single glance : —
LETTER.
" You have laid me under as great an
obligation, signor, as that which I received
from your noble father twenty-three years
ago : I would not, for half my illustrious
uncle's fame, have had the ring you
write of pass into any other families
than those of Doria and Adimari. As I
see what spirit you are of, (though I
could wish its edge less keen,) I will not
offend it by arguments which may here-
after find a fitter season ; allow me at
present to pray only, that you will esti-
mate the jewel at whatever value you
please, and suffer me to consider it as a
88 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
mere deposit for you, or your heirs, to
claim at some future day.
*< My treasurer, by whom I send this
letter, will take charge of the ring, and
give you an order upon the bank of
St. George for whatever sum you may
choose to receive.
" That affair settled, I shall claim the
privilege of your late father's grateful
friend, and hope in that character to be
allowed the gratification of forwarding
you in the military life it seems you are
on the point of embracing.
(Signed,) Gianettino Doria,
Prince of Melfi.''
Cesario read this letter several times,
as if he could not sufficiently take in all
its generous meaning ; but it soothed a
proud heart, rankling with former wounds,
and it threw over his dark fortunes the
first beam of light which had brightened
them for many months.
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 89
Yet when he summoned the Prince's
treasurer, after long delay, it was with
difficulty he preserved that command
over himself which is so necessary for
dignity.
A countenance all movement and ex-
pression ; speaking eyes, which involun-
tarily sought the looks of those he con-
versed wdth ; and a cheek that alter-
nately took the hue of all his emotions,
were not features to be trusted when
propriety demanded an appearance of
tranquillity. He named hastily a sum
just adequate for his honourable pur-
poses ; and consigning the ring to the
treasurer, with a short billet for the
Prince, took the order on the bank, and
dismissed his visitant,
( 90 )
CHAPTER VI.
It was then that Cesario*s freed heart
sprang back with the violence of a bow
long bent ; the passions of suffering
pride, of self-pity, of struggling inclina-
tion and of prejudice, of gratitude and
reviving hope, mingled their torrents
down his cheeks ; and in that solitary
hour, all the pleasures, the pains, the
hardships and the enjoyments, the pos-
sessions and the privations of his former
life, were crowded by memory.
To the natives of colder regions, these
sudden abandonments to every passion
of the instant, may appear unmanly ; but
nature varies human character as infi-
nitely as she does the modes of animal
and vegetable existence ; and amongst
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN'. Ql
our southern neighbours, every feeling
assumes such a character of \ivacity, that
it is no more susceptible of concealment
than the lineaments of the face are ca-
pable of alteration. These franker people
attach no shame to the display of a passion
which is not in itself, or by its direction,
criminal ; they are ignorant of characters
like that of the English, whose heart's
workings are kept from sight with as
much jealousy as a Turkish husband
guards his Haram ; where the profoundest
sensibilities are habitually repressed, and
a surface of ice spread over a soil of fire.
In addition to this character of coun-
try, Cesario was further privileged by
the manner of the age he lived in ; it
was an age of stormy revolution, perils
and change knocked at the gates of all
the Italian states ; and in a country
where every thing increased the spirit of
party, and each individual attached him-
self to a favourite leader or kinsman, the
92 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
vicissitudes, even of the humblest station,
were singularly striking.
Thus, strong passions were kept in
constant action ; aversions and attach-
ments were strengthened by injuries and
obligations of more than ordinary pro-
portions y and the human soul, disdaining
mere pleasures for the game of life, de-
manded the agitation of powerful affec-
tions and the stake of happiness.
Thus, the times of which we speak
were as fruitful in heroic actions as in
great crimes ; and if they chronicled the
horrid act of one brother tearing out the
eyes of another, they opposed to it the
beautiful instance of a son expiring of
grief at sight of his father's tomb.
Cesario Adimari had all that vigour of
passion which makes character either
formidable or admirable, as that passion
is used ; and he was now at that mo-
mentous period of life when the character
receives its final direction towards good
or evil : that even period between youth
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 93
and manhood, in which the soul takes a
steady sur\^ey of its owti prospects and
powers, and strikes at once into the dark
road of selfishness, or the bright track of
heroism.
On the intimacies he should now cul-
tivate, and the habits he should now
form, much of his future fate must de-
pend. He felt this : and while he re-
joiced to re-enter the noble circle of the
Doria family, he almost grieved to think
that Giovanni Cigala, whose gentleness
attracted, and whose goodness would have
attached him, was the only living being
whom it would be impious for him to
cherish in friendship.
Firmly persuaded that the more diffi-
cult it was for him to shun and to abhor
this amiable enemy, the greater was the
sacrifice to filial duty, he lost no time in
ridding himself of unsought obligation.
P'or this purpose he sought Giovanni at
his house in the Strada Lomellino.
He was gone into the country.
94 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
*' To Campo Marone or to Nervi?*'
" To Nervi." Even there Cesario had
the resolution to seek him.
Giovanni was walking up and down a
winter-walk, open to the sun and the
prospects of the south, when he was told
that young Signor Adimari waited him
in the house. *' Did I hear you rightly?"
asked Giovanni, astonished. The servant
repeated his information : then, quickly
guessing the business of his haughty
countryman, Giovanni hastened to find
him.
Ten minutes' solitude in a room where
the happiest part of his life had been
chiefly spent, assisted Cesario to smother
such of his peculiar feelings towards the
generosity of Giovanni, as he now doubly
deemed it his duty not to show ; for these
ten minutes of racking remembrance
made a heavy addition to the resentment
he bore the race of Cigala.
His eye and his step had more than
their usual haughtiness when he ad-
15
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 93
vanced to meet Giovanni : — " You guess
my business, Signor Cigala," said Ce-
sario ; and he emphasized that name, as
if he meant to fortify his resolution by
its sound.
" Any business is welcome which gives
me the satisfaction of seeing you," re-
plied Giovanni, purposely evading the
question.
Cesario fixed his eyes on him — fixed
them somewhat severely :— '' I must not
expect you, signor, to confess, unques-
tioned, a transaction which you have
taken such pains to conceal -, but I do
expect from you a direct answer to this
question : — Is it to you I am indebted for
the payment of - — •■ — ?" and he named
the debt.
Giovanni did not speak : only a deeper
red coloured his cheek. That gene-
rous glow, that dignified silence, smote
Cesario ; and rapidly changing, not
merely in voice, but in look, he added,
*' I thank you for your amiable intentions.
96 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
sigiior : it is all I can ever bring myself
to thank a Cigala for. Your silence wants
no interpreter : again I thank you." He
laid a heavy purse upon the table as he
spoke, and took up his hat.
" Unkind !" exclaimed Giovanni, with
unusual vehemence.
" Ungrateful ! perhaps you mean ?"
said Cesario, darting on him an eye of
fire. '' But when favours are thus forced
on us, by hands we abhor, what have we
to do with gratitude ? Be this the last
time that my feelings are thus outraged :
— Signor, it must be the last."
** I have mistaken your character,"
said Giovanni, drawing back with an air
of chagrin and self-respect. " I fancied
it accessible to all kindly emotions : but
it must have been no! it could not
have been pride that looked so noble to
me under the semblance of filial piety !"
The just indignation with which this
speech began, and the sudden return to
generous inference with which it ended,
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOUy. 97
made Cesario blush : " What is it you
would wring from me ?** he asked, in a
relenting tone.
" Some show of that common good-
will with which man looks on man," re-
plied Giovanni. " I could ill support
this frightful outlawry from any one of
my fellow-creatures, much less from
you."
** And why less from me than from
another?" asked Cesario, turning away
his eyes.
" Do not these walls answer you ?"
said Giovanni, in a low voice.
*< Yes, they do answer me!" exclaimed
the kindling Cesario. ** They speak to
me with a hundred tongue^ ! — that spot,
whereon my father used to stand — those
trees, which I see from this window, and
which his hand planted — yonder dismal
pile, where his sacred ashes rest without a
monument, — all speak, and bid me "
Cesario stopped suddenly, struck with a
recollection of the promise he bad sought
VOl^. I. F
dS THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
from Giovanni at their meeting in the
chapel. Vanquished by that recollection,
he sunk upon a seat, burying his face in
his hands.
Giovanni guessed his thoughts, but
forbore to give his own, utterance.
After a long silence, Cesario rose.
<« Blame our fate. Cigala," he said, with
penetrating puthos, " it is that which
has made us enemies. I should have
been your friend, your grateful friend,
had you been the son of another man ;
but as it is, my father's shade would rise
and curse me, were I to trust myself
longer within the powerful influence of
your character."
Again Cesaj-io escaped from the eager
grasp of Giovanni's hand, just as he had
again excited the hope of future amity ;
and again Giovanni saw his kind exer-
tions baffled, his benevolence spurned;
and was left to contemplate all that he
possessed in the luxuriant scene around
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 99
him, only as the abundant luel of a never-
ceasing remorse.
Cesario's next duty was to visit the
Palazzo Doria, and acknowledge the
friendship of its princely master : but
agitated by the past scene, and unwilling
to present himself in such a tremor of
spirit, instead of proceeding through the
city, he turned aside towards that quar-
ter where the Albergo now stands ; seek-
ing to tranquillise himself among the
solitary groves which then occupied the
present site of that building.
His retirement was, however, soon in-
vaded. Scarcely had he attained tlie
level of the hill, when he heard the
tinkling of falcons' bells, mingled with
the agreeable tumult of animated con-
versation and the prancing of steeds :
the next moment he espied a party re-
turning from hawking,
Cavaliers and ladies, falconers and
pages, were mixed together in pleasing
confusion. The gay colours of their dif-
F 2
100 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHK.
ferent habits, the feathers on die heads
of the ladies' palfreys, and the fanciful
hoods of the birds, made an amusing
picture ; and Cesario, in another mood,
might have paused to look at it. He
would now have struck into a side path,
had not his attention been momentarily
caught by an object, singular at that
period — a little open car drawn by four
Neapolitan horses.
Seen from a short distance, these ele-
gant animals appeared hardly larger than
greyhounds : they wore silver collars,
through which passed reins of azure silk ;
and were guided by a young creature,
whose slight form happily harmonised
with the fantastic character of her car-
riage.
She was standing, less from skill than
from exuberant spirits : as she passed,
the wind, ruffling her light garments, be-
trayed the ancle of an Atalanta, and
kindled the colours of Aurora upon her
cheek. Half-laughing, half-fearful, she
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN'. 101
held the reins, contending again ^ the
rough blast and the spirited action of her
horses.
In the act of passing Cesario, the wind
blew off her thin scarf; he caught it ;
returned it to her, bow^d, received a
gracious glance from a pair of bright
blue eyes, and went on.
A second afterwards, he turned round
to observe whether so careless and skill-
less a driver proceeded safely. Her
horses were still checked, and she was
standing looking back after him : he
lifted his hat again, but he staid not;
his head and heart were full of other
things ; and leaving the sprightly caval-
cade to their mirth, and the lady to her
meditations, he proceeded on his cir-
cuitous way to the Palazzo Doria.
None but emotions of the most plea-
surable sort awaited him there.
The prince received him cordially ;
entered with interest into his concerns,
and frankly discussed the subject upon
F 3
lOS THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
which the elder Adimari had withdrawn
from his society.
From this discussion, it was manifest
to Cesario, that his father had greatly
overrated the prince's influence. From
amiable unwillingness to dwell upon
what pained him in human character, and
having abstained from investigating the
affair, lest what was then only suspicion,
should be made certainty, Signor Adimari
had lost the opportunity of discovering
his own error.
It was evident, that Gianettino's in-
terest had been exerted to the utmost;
and that he in his turn, hurt at ** having
Jiis good, evil thought of,'- had receded
like his friend.
This explanation not only convinced
Cesario of the Doria's sincerity, but fur-
ther unveiled to him the indefatigable
intrigues of the elder Cigala : he was
therefore less disposed than ever to enter
into a league of amity with his son j and
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. lOS
less tenacious than heretofore, in accept-
ing the friendship of Doria.
Frankness was natural to Cesario :
there were now no resentments, nor pride
to bar its way: he became easy and com-
municative ; first giving Doria a sum-
mary of his past history ; then explaining
to him his views and wishes for the
future.
With far more of the artless sailor in
him, than of the discerning statesman.
Prince Doria did not penetrate the re-
cesses of Cesario's character ; he saw him
only such as he appeared at that moment 5
avowedly jealous of obligation, and bent
upon laying the first stone of his own
fortunes.
Indeed Cesario deprecated any further
favour from this distinguished friend, than
that of placing him in his ship, and ad-
vancing him in proportion to his deserts.
Subsistence and honour were all he co-
veted ; he therefore sought nothing be-
F 4
104 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
yond the admiral's protection from ne-
glect or envy.
When Cesario sincerely protested, that
common pleasures were indifferent to him j
and that he disdained the mere trappings
of wealth, however glittering, Doria
smiled at such philosophic austerity in a
man of twenty-four, while he praised his
spirit for spurning favours from theCigali.
A closer observer would have discovered
in the vehement eloquence of Cesario,
while describing his griefs, his resentments,
and his scorn of life's minor enjoyments,
that dangerous excess of sensibility which
sooner or later must find its object ; and
which was even now vibrating between a
yearning towards Giovanni Cigala, and
that pride which bid him shun, and that
erroneous piety which bid him hate the
man whose father had beggared his.
Cesario would not have been displeased,
had Prince Doria combatted his resolu-
tion of avoiding Giovanni : but as the
prince did not do so, he concluded that
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 105
the resolution was a right one ; and that
if he should ever swerve from it, the
weakness would digrace him. In fact,
the Genoese hero, hurried away by Ce-.
sario's impetuous oratory, mistook pas-
sion's torrent for the force of truth ;
simply because it swept his judgment
along with it. He saw clearly, that Ce-
sario would not accept the least assist-
ance from Giovanni Cigala ; therefore, to
urge them into intimacy, would be doing
needless violence to the former's filial
principles.
The prince knew very little of the per-
son in question : for since Giovanni's
•return from Malta, Doria was divided
between public duties and the anxieties
of a large family ; some of whom vexed
his heart, and embarrassed his finances.
The prince w^as consequently unable
to estimate the moral advantage which
his young friend might reap from such an
intimacy; as little did he suspect that
Cesario's inclination was at war with his
F 5
106 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
principles, (at least with those powerful
passions which he mistook for principles;)
and that, almost unconsciously, he waited
only the sanction of another, to break
the bonds of his ardent nature, and let it
spring forth to meet that of Giovanni
with noble rivalry of confidence.
Unable to fathom the depths of that
profound sensibility, of which he saw but
the agitated surface, Doria believed there
would be neither utility nor good man-
ners in attempting to argue Cesario out
of resolutions, which, however over-
strained, were honourable, and he con-
cluded agreeable to his feelings: he
therefore forebore to discuss the subject.
Having settled the mode and the pe-
riod, in which Cesario's services would
be required, Doria invited him to join his
domestic circle; where, in a numerous
family consisting of young men and wo-
men, all unbroken in health, hopes, and
hilarity, Cesario's wintry humour warmed
into a social glow.
( w )
CHAPTER VII.
From this auspicious day, his fortune
appeared to return : the Palazzo Doria
was ever open to him ; and though its
master had not much time to bestow on
the concerns of any one unconnected with
his own family, Cesario never found him
cold to his communication, nor luke-
warm in his exertions.
An expedition was fitting out in the
ports of Genoa, of which Doria was to
take the command ; and having appointed
Cesario to his own ship, he exhorted him
to employ the intermediate time in study-
ing the principles of a profession, which
required science united with valour in its
votaries.
F 6
108 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
At that age when the spirit of adven-
ture begins to dawn in the youthful
mind, Cesario, in common with other
boys, delighted in reading voyages, and
listening to his father's narratives of na-
val exploits : since then, his own expe-
rience had given him some insight into
navigation. Nature had bestowed on
him the materials of military superi-
ority ; and as all of naval tactics then
known, was principally the fruit of the
great Doria's genius, his nephew's in-
structions were nearly all-sufficient.
The prospect of activity, and peril, and
distinction, roused the soul of Cesario.
To the bitterness of grief, with which
he had mourned the loss of his father,
succeeded the animating belief that his
sacred shade witnessed his present ex-
ertions, and would brighten in his fu-
ture fame. He had shaken off the load
of debt ; he was free from any galling
obligation, and though now but a child
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 109
of fortune, he had conquered for himself
respect from all with whom he mingled.
This change of circumstances, by re-
storing to him the conscious dignity of
independence, completely changed his
appearance. It was no longer necessary
for him to flash a threatening spirit in
the eyes of the world, and to show, by
a frowning brow, that immediate venge-
ance would follow insult. He was
still noble ; he was again free (for debt
is slavery) ; and, with that conscious-
ness, he became kindly, indulgent, and
amiable.
Like all other expeditions, that of the
republic was delayed from week to week :
its object was co-operation with the
troops and fleet of Spain, which were
then slowly collecting for the purpose of
regaining the rock and fortress ofelpenoji
de Velez,
This fortress, situated close to the
African coast, and once in the possession
of a Christian power, at that time ef-
110 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN-
factually bridled the insolence of the
corsairs j but it was now in the hands of
the Moors, and every Christian state be-^
came interested in its reduction.
An expedition against this place had
the best chance of success, if undertaken
when the prospect of intercepting the
galleons in their return from the new
world should have carried out the ene-
my's cruizers. It was therefore agreed,
that, immediately on this event, the
Spanish commanders should issue forth
for Penon de Velez, while Prince Doria
with the Genoese galleys should follow,
and destroy the pirates, or at least
render their return to succour the fort-
ress doubtful, if not impossible.
Upon tidings of the India ships, and
the appearance of the pirates, depended
the departure of the fleet : Cesario was
consequently forced to wait in Genoa,
till his burning desire of quitting it was
nearly destroyed by new hopes and new
inclinations.
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. Ill
Marco Doria, one of his noble friend's
younger sons, had lately returned from
travelling in foreign countries 5 and be-
ing of an amusing, kindly character, had
first pleased, and then almost attached
Cesario.
Tliere was a sort of good-humoured
caprice about Marco, which served to
give his society that piquancy, without
which common pleasures had no relish
for Cesario ; and, as that caprice was
never directed upon him, this liking was
the more flattering.
In fact, Marco's caprices were rather
those of humour than of heart; and
were oftener affected than real. At first
they had been purely natural ; but now,
from indulgence, and from seeing their
effect in procuring him the privileges of
a character, he rather fostered than
sought to weed them out.
By turns Cesario smiled at, and re-
proved, and smiled again on the fantastic
moods which made Marco, in the course
112 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
of a single day, alternately a cynic, a
sybarite, a devotee, and a hero. His
brave father, often heart-wrung by the
shameful irregularities of an elder son,
and the profuse expenditure of another,
had no anger to waste upon venial fol-
lies ; so that if Marco appeared in the
morning with the look and the dress of
a philosopher, and at night with the
tinsel and talk of a coxcomb, he simply
shook his head, muttered " Foolish boy !*'
and bade Cesario teach him to act and
look like a man.
Dividing his time between professional
studies and occasional recreation, Cesario
passed from the grave abode of the syn-
dic to the sprightlier Palazzo Doria ;
seldom frequenting other houses, there-
fore rarely thrown in the way of Giovanni
Cigala.
The retired habits and peaceful pur-
suits of the latter tended to remove
them from each other ; but at times they
met at mass, or at public festivities, or in
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 113
the streets ; and whenever they did so,
Giovanni carried the idea of Cesario
back with him to his solitary home ; and
Cesario was rendered thoughtful for the
remainder of the day.
Giovanni sought him no longer ; but
the expression of countenance with which
he returned the passing salute of Cesario,
convinced the latter that he must attri-
bute this change to delicacy, not to in-
difference ; and that, as he had found
friendship and the means of honourable
subsistence from other than the generous
son of his father's enemy, he need ap-
prehend no further intrusion from the
man who had sought him on purely be-
nevolent principles.
There were moments when Cesario
felt tempted to stop Giovanni as they
met, and proffer that acquaintance which
could no longer receive an interpretation
wounding to jealous pride. But still
one feeling interposed, one feeling was
unappeased — the remembrance of his
114 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
father, "done to death" by the elder
Cigala.
At this recollection the kindly glow
left his heart, and he would pass quickly
by, with an averted head. Giovanni
failed not to remark these repelling looks,
and was at length unwillingly convinced,
that he and Cesario Adimari were indeed
not fated to knit the knot of amity. True
to his habitual confidence in the wisdom
of Heaven, he reconciled himself under
the disappointment, and turned his sym-
pathy into another channel.
The task is not hard, when our ima-
gination has been the source of the
baffled affection : Giovanni lived to feel
the difference between such an affection,
when but a courted inclination, and when
worked into the soul by time and trial —
when become part of its being, and
cruelly torn thence by ungrateful vio-
lence.
Hitherto he had seen only the inter-
esting and agitating parts of Cesario's
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 1 15
character : chance gave him an opportu-
nity of observing how enchantingly that
character was varied, and how capable it
was of diffusing all the charms of mind
over social intercourse.
He went by mere accident one even-
ing to a conversazione. A numerous
party was assembled when he entered j
it was broken into detached sets ; and in
one of those he discovered Cesario. In
the instant of making this discovery,
Giovanni withdrew himself as much as
possible from observation.
He then remarked, that the persons
by whom Cesario was encircled were ex-
actly those most distinguished by that
eloquent talent de societe which illumi-
nates the dullest subject, and bestows
nearly absolute power upon the possessor.
These persons were evidently absorbed
by the superior eloquence of Cesario.
As Giovanni continued steadily to
watch his movements, he conceived not
liow the same man could look so different.
116 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
yet leave no doubt of his identity. The
darkness of despair, and the fierceness
of irritated pride, were vanished from
that singularly-beautiful face ; all there
was openness, and hilarity, and bright-
ness. Wherever Cesario's eyes rested,
they rested with an expression at once
sweet, inviting, and kindly : he smiled
frequently; and he smiled like one
who neither distrusts nor dreads any of
the persons around him ; like one who
sees that he is admired, and listened to
with pleasure, and whom that convic-
tion only renders more inclined to like
and admire in return.
The animation of his gestures, joined
to the interesting variety of his counte-
nance, but, above all, the deep atten-
tion of those about him, left Giovanni
without a doubt that he was detailing
some remarkable adventure, or enforcing
some favourite opinion. What magic
must there be in his eloquence, thus to
rivet so many eyes and thoughts upon
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 117
him alone ; thus to charm even Envy it-
self into admiration ! How did Gio-
vanni wish that he, too, might have be-
come a listener! — but, fearful of disturb-
ing that happy flow of soul, and reluct-
ant to overshadow that brilliant sunshine,
he kept aloof for some time, and at last
quitted the assembly.
If Giovanni afterwards recalled the
scene of this evening, and thought on it
with regret, that he must never hope to
enjoy the intimacy, and share in the feel-
ings of one so liberally endowed by na-
ture, he consoled himself by believing
that Cesario had, at least, regained his
original capacity of happiness, and was
entering a career which might lead to
fortune.
Though Giovanni's character was
deeply tinctured with romance, it was
not that blameable romance w'hich de-
taches the mind from its legitimate ob-
jects of interest, and weds it to some
hopeless or useless attachment : he saw
118 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN,
Cesario no longer destitute and desolate ;
he turned, therefore, from contemplating
his situation to active duties and dearer
interests. In a very short time he be-
came entirely engrossed by the wish of
discovering his sister.
From the relatives of the Chevalier
de Fronsac, to whom he wrote with a
fraternal anxiety which opened their
hearts in return, he learned, that, shortly
after her marriage, she accompanied her
husband to Naples, whither he was car-
ried by an unsettled humour ; that they
had continued there some time, then
passed into Sicily, whence, after another
sojourn of a few months, they had em-
barked for Marseilles, with the purpose
of returning to settle in France.
But ere they had gone a third of their
voyage, the Chevalier, with his usual
fickleness, landed at one of the Papal
ports, intending to cross Italy into France.
From that period (now more than two
years), no tidings had been heard either
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHK. 119
of him, his wife, or their domestics. So,
whether they had re-embarked in some
other vessel, and perished by shipwreck ;
whether they had been robbed and mur-
dered by banditti, or were living, for
some unaccountable reason, in voluntary
privacy, the family of De Fronsac knew
not.
The chateau of the Chevalier was now
occupied by a cousin, the legal heir ; and
his mother was retired into a religious
house.
From this account it seemed too pro-
bable that Madame de Fronsac and her
husband had perished at sea : for it was
unlikely that not one of their domestics
should have escaped, if their fate had
been to fall amongst robbers ; still less
likely, if they were dwelling in any other
part of Europe, that not one should quit
them, and return to his native country,
Giovanni sometimes feared it was a
forlorn hope to seek further ; yet he
could not rest satisfied, until he went to
1^0 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
Ostia, the port where the Sicihan ship
had landed them, and where it seemed
just possible that his personal enquiries
might elicit some new light, and lead to
the discovery of his sister's fate.
He had projects for his future life,
which he would not realise till this im-
portant point should be cleared ; at least
till the death of his imprudent sister, and
the extinction of her race, should amount
to certainty.
Leaving his property under the care of
a relation, he therefore quitted Genoa,
hopeless of success, though resolute to
attempt it.
( 121 )
CHAPTER VIII.
While Giovanni was pursuing his jour-
ney among the Maritime Alps, calmly
surveying the more important path of life
which lay before him, and revolving
whether he were to tread it singly, or en-
circled by domestic ties, Cesario Adimari
was rapidly losing the gloomy retrospec-
tion of past sorrows in the hopes and
fears of new attachments.
" I am going to the Palazzo Rosso,"
said Mai'co Doria, one morning entering
Cesario's apartment at the Syndic's ; *' do
accompany me, Adimari ; I require some
one to divide with me the toil of listen-
ing to a little coquette in the bud ; for her
arts are not full-blown yet ; and I know
you love me well enough, to be that self-
devoted victim."
VOL. I. ' G
1^2 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOffiT^
Cesario smiled at the affected languor
with which his friend spoke. He re-
minded him, how often they had heard
the Signora Brignoletti spoken of in terms
of rapture ; and requested to know what
his objections could be against one so
generally admired.
Marco was in a wrangling mood : he
quarrelled with the lady's beauties and
accomplishments ; he proved, that every
one of her graces and merits was neutra-
lised by some opposite quality of mind
or person.
True, she was gifted with the talent
of chaunting extempore verses ; and when
she opened her mouth, " music dwelt
within that coral cave ;*' but then she
was scarcely seventeen, and at that age
shamefacedness was worth all the genius
of a Sappho.
She talked well upon every subject ;
for if she knew nothing of them, she
nevertheless uttered the most ingenious
fancies, or the most amusing absurdities.
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 1^23
without hesitation; yet, after alJ, was not
a woman's virtue, ignorance ? her best
grace, silence?
Then her person — it was indeed a
glow of youth and health ; but it was too
glowing : she reminded a poetical ob-
server of a peach rather than a rose ;
and that was high treason against the
delicate character of female beauty.
She was said to have the very prettiest
feet and ankles imaginable : but if beauty
is but the harmonious adaptation of parts
to the particular end for which they are
destined, if it be simply utility, then
Beatrice's pretty feet must be ugly, be-
cause they were too small to support her.
Cesario interrupted this solemn non-
sense with a sudden burst of laughter :
not a whit discouraged, Marco went on
with the gravity of a Seneca, to rail at his
cousin's singularly bright eyes and white
teeth. He maintained that both were
detestable.
** They injure my sight!" he said,
G 2
1^4 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
" I hate all glaring objects ; so I always
avoid white teeth, snow, diamonds, and
bright eyes. But come — since I must
face these horrors to-day, by the saints
you shall confront them with me.'*
Cesario yielded to his impelling arm,
as he concluded this tirade, and they
went forth together.
Arid what, in sober truth, was the
woman thus described by the whimsical
mood of her cousin?
With youth, laughing from the blue
heaven of her eyes; a complexion, indeed,
like the sunny side of a peach ; and clus-
tering hair, of ardent brown ; Beatrice
Brignoletti was charming in defiance of
rule. Her springing steps was marked
by a volatile grace, something between
walking and dancing ; in another person
it might have been mistaken for affect-
ation, but in her, it was the natural ex-
pression of that jocund spirit which looked
forth from her eyes, her lips, her cheek,
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 1Q5
her flying tresses, nay, " at every act and
motion of her body."
The same jocuml spirit made her rash
and fearless, and discourseful even in
large societies ; and more judicious men
than Marco Doria might have agreed
-with him in asking for something more of
timidity in an inexperienced girl. But
at seventeen, with all her genius, Beatrice
was as much of a child in her love of
amusement, her eagerness in the pursuit
of whatever tempted her whim or her
heart, and her utter disregard of what
other people thought of her condu<:t, as
when she used to cry for a doll, or
trample over a parterre in chase of a
butterfly.
As amusing, as caressing, as endearing
as a child, she was usually judged with
the same indulgence ; and as neither the
saddest humour could resist the flash of
her smile, nor the coldest heart her
glance of brief sensibility, there were not
G 3
1^6 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOUK,
many persons courageous enough to teli
her, nor wise enough to tell themselves,
that her exuberant gaiety hovered on the
verge of freedom.
An heiress, and an only child, Beatrice
was left solely to the guardianship of a
mother, who had ** thrown herself into
devotion," as the French call it; and
whoy without power or perhaps inclina-
tion to shut out the heathenish world
from the Palazzo Rosso, presided at her
assemblies with a visage that would not
have disgraced Medusa.
Although the Dorias called the pretty
heiress cousin, their relationship was very
distant ; and had far less share in binding
the families together, than their mutual
desire of a nearer connection.
The Marchesa Brignoletti wished her
daughter to marry the heir of the Doria
honours; and the young man himself left
no assiduity untried which might win the
heart of his mistress ; but the heart is
sometimes very provoking, and though
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. IT/
that of Beatrice was certainly given to
« the melting mood," it melted not before
tlie many sighs of this admirer.
Report whispered, that Cynthio Doria
was refused, because another Genoese, of
nearly equal rank, was handsomer, and
not so much in love, as to make love
aukwardly: be that as it may, Cynthio
was silenced for ever ; his rumoured rival
thrown aside ; and the lady's favour en-
grossed by a young Sardinian, who had
followed her from Turin, and seemed
likely to carry off the prize.
All this, and much more of private
annals did Marco Doria impart to his
companion, as they took their way along
the Strada Nuova, to the Palazza Rosso.
It was one of those golden mornings
known only to Italy ; a refreshing breeze,
blowing off the sea, tempered the hot
sun : the air, the exercise, the quickening
influence of animated conversation, had
given to the fine person of Cesario its
fiiU lustre, and, as his friend presented
G 4
12S THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN^
him, he received one of Signora Beatrice's
brightest eye-beams. There needed not
her musical shriek of recognition to in-
form him that he saw in her the pretty
charioteer whose scarf he had picked up
several weeks ago. She seemed en-
chanted with the opportunity of thank-
ing him for his gallantry ; and said so
much more upon the subject than such a
trifling civility required, that Cesario
could not help recalling one of Marco's
exclamations about her — *« How she will
talk i" He smiled, bowed, complimented
her in return ; then, directing his atten-
tion, as he believed right, to the Mar-
chesa, left Beatrice to his friend.
With that voluble vivacity which Marco
Doria had exaggerated, Beatrice began
to rally him on the doleful seriousness of
his deportment; to contrast him with the
sprightly Frenchmen and ardent Savoy-
ards at the court of Turin ; to beg the
history of his travels, and to give him
that of her own. Thence she flew off
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 1^9
to a repetition of their amicable disputes
and artless sports in childhood, which she
coloured so magically by a pretty mix-
ture of sentiment and gaiety, that Cesa-
rio's attention was irresistibly attracted,
while he wondered at the obstinately-in-
different mood of his companion.
" O you must come and worship my
doves," exclaimed Beatrice, suddenly
starting up, " if you wish to see just
such feathers as Cupid is plumed with, or
perhaps his arrows winged with ; come
with me to my aviary."
"I had rather make acquaintance
with a sensible-looking owl," reph'ed
Marco, forcing a yawn.
*< That ungracious speech, and that
mirror beside you, are so tempting for a
bad jest 1" returned Beatrice 5 "but as
/ am no owl-fancier, prithee remain where
you are. Signor Adimari, you will come
with me ?"
There was no resisting the pretty
plaintive tone of childish disappointment
G 5
130 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
with which this was said ; Cesario rose,
and approached the door she was opening.
** Where are you going, Beatrice ?'^
asked her mother, in a tone of displea-
sure.
" Into the air with the birds, mamma,'*
replied the gay creature, vanishing as
she spoke.
Cesario followed her out into an aerial
garden, formed by an extensive platform,
supported on a range of marble arcades y
it was diversified by parterres of the
choicest flowers and bowers of shrubs.
There the pomegranate, wedded to the
heliotrope and yellow rose, hung its
blushing garlands through the openings
of gilded trellices, and strewed the path
with varied blossoms : at the extremity
of the platform, shaded from the sun by
rose-acacias, and sprinkled by the waters
of a fountain from below, (the sparkling
showers of which rose as high as this
fantastic garden,) stood the aviary.
Beatrice ran to call out her doves, and
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 131
as she placed them alternately in the
hands of Cesario, descanting on their
beauty, her own charms of complexion
and animation could not pass unnoticed.
From the beauty of the birds, their
conversation turned upon beauty in the
human species : Beatrice avowed her ad-
miration of it with indiscreet ardour ; and
having warmly praised a head of the
war-angel, by Michael Angelo, at Turin,
as her idea of perfect manly beauty, she
met Cesario's eyes while hers were ad-
miringly rivetted on his figure ; and for-
getting what it implied, she uttered, in
the confusion of that detection, some-
thing about his strong resemblance to
this picture.
The words were no sooner escaped,
than she blushed like vermilion j Cesario
coloured too ; neither of them spoke,
till Beatrice, fairly overcome with shame,
flew back into the room where her mother
sat, leaving Cesario to recover from his
G 6
13^ THE KXIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
eiiiban-as^mettt, and to follow her at his
leisure.
The remainder of this visit was spent
in more general conversation ^ and al-
though the lively Beatrice ceased not to
sport with the transient humour of Marco
Doria, she never addressed nor answered
Cesario without a visible blush ; perliaps
there was, insensibly, less of confusion
and more of delight in this heightened
colour ; for Beatrice began to forget that
she had any thing to be ashamed of, and
thought only of admiring that sweet im-
periousness of expression, which, though
softened, was not subdued, in the fine
coimtenance of Cesario, and that flexible
grace which was developed by every
movement of his exquisite figure.
The ensuing day carried Cesario into
the same society. Signora Brignoietti
had in\dted her cousin and his friend to
take chocolate with her in the morning,
a celebrated singer being engaged to give
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 133
her a lesson, in her way to the court of
Piedmont.
They were true to their appointment,
for Marco Doria was in the mood of gal-
lantry, and Cesario loved music to abso-
lute passion.
Her mother was at mass ; the Count
Cagliari, Beatrice's Sardinian adorer,
stood by her side, leaned over her chair,
handed her the music-books, lifted her
nosegay when it dropt, and retained part
of it as he did so ; in short, assumed the
air of a man as sure of his station in a
lady's heart, as vain of the privileges that
position gave him.
Cesario did not much observe then,
though he often recalled it afterwards,
that at his first meaning glance from her
to the Count, Beatrice suddenly altered
her manner; she listened with a cold
air to the familiar whisperings of Cag-
liari ; and, removing from that part of
the room in which he was, contrived so
to immerse herself in the rest of the
184 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
party, that he could never again fix him-
self at her side.
While her little circle were trifling
away the time, till the Seraphina should
arrive, Beatrice flew up to Marco Doria
with the smiling witchery of a Eu-
phrosyne, — " So ! you are out of your
tub to-day," she said, glancing archly
over his suit of azure silk, delicately
wrought with silver ; ^' no longer Di-
ogenes, what art thou, my entertaining
cousin ?"
" Your slave, fair Beatrice! — for I
have not seen any thing so charming
since '^ *' Since your last look at your
mirror," was her arch interruption, and
she turned her brilliant face towards
Cesario : '* And you, Signor Adimari,
what humour are you in ? or are you in
any humour at all ? have the charity to
let me know before-hand, that I may not
nip our acquaintance in the bud, by
being either too grave or too gay, or too
wise or too foolish, or too awful or too
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 135
familiar for your taste of the moment ; I
do assure you my humour is to please you
both :" — and as she curtesied with in-
imitable grace, a pretty dropping of her
eye-lids gave but the more effect to the
brilliant orbs from which they were as
suddenly raised.
" It is not for you, Signora, to bend
to any one's humour," said Cesario,
gaily. ** You triumph over all.''
*' Santa Maria ! here comes that perse-
cuting man !"
*« What! Count Cagliari I" repeated
Doria. " I thought he was lord of the
ascendant here !"
" He ! I hate him ! I never did more
than tolerate him ; and I have hated him
ever since yesterday."
" Bravo ! you and I are formed for
each other I see, after all !" cried Marco.
Hated since yesterday ! — why, even my
weathercock fancies could not have shift-
ed in less time , nor, I dare say, with less
136 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
Beatrice was too earnestly eluding
Count Cagliari, and too eagerly attend-
ing to Cesario, for a reply to this remark.
After having successfully evaded her ad-
mirer, she said to the latter, «* Can you
imagine any thing so odious, as to be
persecuted by a man one has taken a
disgust to !"
** Yes ! to be avoided by the person
we love," was Cesario's playfully-reprov-
ing answer.
" Then you pity that presumptuous
creature ? You would be his advocate
with me ?" she said, with a mixture of
softness and pique.
** I suspect there is no man who would
consent to plead any other cause than his
own to the Signora Brignoletti," replied
Cesario.
His answer was a mere common-place
of gallantry demanded by the question ;
and he uttered it sportively j but no
sooner was it said, than all the colours of
morning painted the face of his fair
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 137
companion ; and indiscreetly exclaiming,
** Oh! I must not jest with you ; I see
you are dangerous," she fled away as
fast as she had done the day before.
" What a pretty, strange little crea-
ture 1" said Cesario to himself, somewhat
disturbed by her second flight ; and he
repeated this remark more than once, as
he accidentally caught her eye fixed on
him, through the occasional openings of
the different groupes in the apartments.
That eye receded from his for a mo-
ment, when he made his way towards
her some time afterwards, and joined
Marco Doria who stood by her ; but it
was not long of recovering its usual lively
excursiveness ; and it sparkled with such
extraordinary brightness, that Cesario
could not forbear asking his friend, in a
low voice, *« Whether his near neighbour-
hood to so much light were good for his
eyes ?"
Beatrice claimed a share in their secret :
it was immediately granted j and Marco
138 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
Doria's voluble gallantry left nothing to
Cesario but an expression of countenance,
to which SignoraBrignoletti's quick fancy
gave its own meaning.
" 'Twas in compliment to those bright
eyes that I chose this watch et-coloured
mantle," said Marco. ** Their colour, an
earthly dyer may imitate ; but for their
fire, I must take Prometheus's journey.
Prithee reward me, sweet Beatrice, with
a smile for this."
" If you had asked for a sigh, I might
have wondered at your effrontery," she
answered, giving the sweet reward he
asked ; ** but a smile is such a poor
every day favour — a mere Algerine
asper — the smallest coin in the heart's
treasury ; and thrown, like alms, to vaga-
bonds, simply to get rid of them! There!
you may have a score at once j I can
afford millions."
*' And is a sigh, then, the richest gift
of this fair treasury of yours?" asked
Cesario, feeling, for the first time., an
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 139
emotion of tenderness in her company ;
*' 1 have seen a blush that was worth the
Indies j'' and his eyes said where, and
when.
*< By the Virgin, she gives you both !''
exclaimed Marco, as Beatrice did indeed
sigh and blush from very pleasure ; ** but
given thus, for nothing, they must be
counterfeits ; don't take them, Adimari ;
at any rate, don't attempt imposing them
on me as lawful coin."
At that instant Count Cagliari ad-
vanced to take leave, piqued b\^ the Sig-
nora's marked avoidance of him. To
appear still sure of her favour, and yet to
scorn it, he carelessly snatched her hand,
kissed it with the air of one tired of play-
ing the lover, and walked out of the
room with a vacant stare of listlessness.
<* You have not told us, my fair coz,
by what name to call this favour !" ob-
served Marco ; ** a kiss of that white
hand is doubtless a medal struck only for
some happy individual,"
140 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
** The die is destroyed then ! ther^
never will be another !" replied Beatrice,
glowing with indignation ; she paused,
then added with imprudent frankness,
** I see what the Count aimed at. He
intended to make you and Signor Adi-
mari believe that he is a favoured lover,
therefore privileged to take this liberty ;
but it is no such thing : and I beg you
both to come every evening to the Pa-
lazzo, just to see how I will mortify his
presumption."
Both gentlemen bowed, and one of
them laughed ; it was certainly not Ce-
sario.
The Seraphina never came ; so the
party broke up, and the different per-
sonages betook themselves to their sepa-
rate homes.
As Marco Doria sauntered along with
Cesario, he amused himself with ridi-
culing the caprices and artifices of women.
He offered to bet any sum, that the
Signora Brignoletti was at this moment
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 141
weeping over the success of her own stra-
tagem : for he considered her conduct to
Cagliari as mere wanton sport with his
feelings ; or else, but a passing fit of
irritation.
Marco was so much used to timjdity in
some women,/ and finesse in others, where
their hearts were concerned, that he never
dreamt of finding the real meaning of
Beatrice's conduct, in its literal interpre-
tation : he therefore fancied her evident
admiration of his friend a piece of
childish acting ; and set it down for cer-
tain, that she only tried to play him off
against some neglect or offence from her
real lover.
From respect for female sincerity, Ce-
sario was not disposed to admit this ; and
from regard for female modesty, he was
as little inclined to believe that the lady
really felt that admiration of his person
which Marco protested she displayed.
He consequently combatted Marco's ar-
142 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
guments, and the evidence of his 6wn
senses ; called her looks and expressions
mere accidents ; and, neither convincing
nor convinced, parted from his com-
panion.
( 143 )
CHAPTER IX.
vV HATEVER was the nature of the Signer
Brignoletti's reveries, when Cesario was
their object, it is certain that he thought
of her only as a charming child ; and as
such, saw no danger in accompanying
Marco Doria to the house of her
mother.
It is true, Beatrice had talents which
often elevated her above her own cha-
racter. When she sang, she did it with
the expression of vivid, unrestrained
feeling : and when obeying an impulse
(which her flatterers called inspiration),
she chanted or recited an extempory
poem, she was certainly inspired with
something beyond the common-places of
Fine-Ladyism. Still, this was only a
144 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
wild shoot of genius ; neither nourished
nor improved by study, nor pruned by
judgment : it was but a meteor light,
brighter at its firSt burst than it would
ever appear afterwards : flowers without
root, worn but as youth's garland, and
destined to wither with its brief day of
enthusiasm.
Cesario saw nothing in this boasted
wonder, beyond the promising talent of
a clever girl.
As the Palazzo Rosso was open every
evening, and after the first introduction
no future invitation being necessary, the
two young men went there every night.
At the commencement of these visits,
they usually stopped but a few minutes ;
then they staid a little longer ; after that
Cesario grew to oppose their departure
so very early ; and, at last, he fell into
the habit of remaining there alone.
From scarcely noticing the Jittle atten-
tion given by Beatrice to Count Cagliari's
assiduities, and the eagerness with which
14
THE KNIGHT Of ST. JOHN. 145
she received attention from himself, Ce-
sario insensibly began to feel, and to
watch for, these proofs of peculiar in-
terest. He gradually lost sight of every
other thing in the conversations of the
Marchesa, till his mind, habituating itself
to one line of observation, and one ex-
pectation, became rivetted upon the
object of its attention with the strength
of passion.
It is humiliating to detect the weak-
nesses of human nature : but, perhaps,
were every passion conceived for a very
faulty or dissimilar object, traced to its
source, we should find it in an awakened
vanity. Cesario's might be attributed
to that subtle cause.
One evening, as Marco Doria called
on him as usual, in his way to the Pa-
lazzo Rosso, he affected a 'fit of what
he called 'the God,' and insisted upon
reciting some verses which he had just
composed upon his friend himself.
Marco enacted his new character of
VOL. I. H
146 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
bard so well, that it was indeed as im-
possible to stop him in his tuneful ca-
reer, as it would have been to stop the
most practised of his supposed brethren :
with " his eye in a fine phrenzy rolling,"
he volubly delivered the following
SONNET.
Who now, with voice profaning Nature's hand,
Shall of Ideal Beauty idly boast ? —
Thy form, Cesario, dims the faultless band
Of sculptured gods, enthroned on Grecia's c«ast.
Faultless are they : but with exhaustless grace
(Beyond or chisel's touch or fancy's glow,)
Thy limbs divine each charm of motion show,
Matching the bright perfection of thy face ! —
That hp, that eye, where Love and Mind contend
For mastery of power ; that smile of light ;
Those curls of jet, and brows sublime, that bend
Like thunders resting on some snow-clad height;
O, who on these shall gaze, nor rapt exclaim,
Here sculpture's idol falls before a mortal's frame !
Cesario laughed heartily at what he
considered bombastic nonsense, when
applied to one man by another ; but he
bestowed a very different appellation on
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 147
it, when Marco proclaimed it a produc-
tion of Beatrice Brignoietti's, and stolen
by him from her writing-case.
The original manuscript shown by
Marco, in support of what he advanced,
was in vain presented to Cesario : the
latter refused to share in such unmanly
treason against the defenceless sex ; and,
though convinced by the delicate hand-
writingj and Marco's utter incapacity to
string a rhyme, that it was really the
work of Beatrice, he persisted in avowing
his disbelief of its authenticity; and so
the affair ended.
After this incident, Cesario was not
long of estimating his power over the
young heart he wnshed to reign in. Her
sparkling eyes, and glowing cheeks,
w henever he drew near, needed no inter-
preter : those eyes were never long absent
from him : and one glance from his,
would at any time make her repulse the
Count Cagliari with marked rudeness ; if
she danced, if she sang, k was only at
H 2
148 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN,
his request ; if she gathered a flower, it
was for him ; if she took refreshments,
it was because he offered it. If Cesario
hawked or hunted, she lent her best
falcon, or pressed on him her favourite
gennet.
That pernicious habit of indulgence
in which Beatrice had been educated,
being more powerful than modesty itself,
she consciously betrayed this secret in-
clination, from a lurking expectation of
gratification waiting upon such display.
Hers was not the love which is disco-
vered by its own attempts at conceal-
ment ; hers was not the love which would
rather have perished with its victim in
the grave, than have compassed a return
at the expense of maidenly dignity ; hers
was not the love, which, born of moral
and mental admiration, can live through
years of hopeless attachment, nourished
by contemplating the virtues of its ob-
ject, and consoled by witnessing his
happiness.
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 149
It was the love of an age just beyond
that wherein a sweetmeat and a flower
are the highest enjoyment ; an age in
which the senses and the imagination
are sometimes mistaken for the heart and
the judgment ; an age, in short, of tur-
bulent but rarely deep attachments.
If Cesario ever dwelt for an instant
with an unpleasant sensation upon her
careless conduct, it lasted but an instant.
There were so many delightful and flat-
tering reasons to be urged in her excuse :
complete innocence, ignorant of the very
sentiment it indulged and betrayed ;
truth, so transparent that even virgin
bashfulness could not veil it j ioVe so
powerful, or love so generous, that either
it could not be restrained by any consi-
derations, or would not, from a noble
disdain of unequal fortune.
To these sophistries were added the
seductions of self-love ; the wants of a
heart formed for strong emotion j and
H 3
150 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
the tumults created by the beauty of
luxuriant and playful youth.
Marco Doria, meanwhile, rallied both
parties on their evident mutual prefer-
ence, and with such dexterous address,
that it was impossible for either to show
their knowledge of his meaning ; yet, as
impossible for them to learn by it the
nature and extent of a sentiment which
both felt, and neither veatured to express.
Just as Marco was in the mood, he
treated love as a light or a profound
sentiment ; deified it with the spirit of a
hero in romance, or sneered at it witb
the asperity of a cynic. But in none of
his moods was he wise enough, or kind
enough, to remind Cesario of the despe-
rate inequality which existed between
his fortunes and those of the inexpe-
rienced creature for w^hom he sighed.
Count Cagliari was formally dismissed
and gone back to Turin ; and an armour
of frowns was beginning to invest the
' THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN, 151
brow of the Marchesa, when the Genoese
fleet received orders to sail.
A swarm of Turkish cruisers, after
sweeping the Adriatic and the shores
of the Mediterranean, were seen liover-
ing round the adjacent islands: it was
therefore expedient to disable or drive
them back ; that so powerful a reinforce-
ment might not come in aid of the Bar-
bary fleet, when the expedition against
Penofi de Velez should take place.
This expedition was indeed on the
point of issuing from Spain, but the Ge-
noese admiral abandoned his share in its
success, only that he might render it
sure, by destroying the ally of Morocco.
Marco Doria, w^ho had been all this
time making up his mind about his fu-
ture pursuit in life ; and who had alter-
nately determined upon the land and the
sea service, the line of politics, the
church, and the court of the Emperor
Charles, was now thoroughly convinced
for tlie next fortnight, that there was
H 4
15Q THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN,
])othing in this world worth a wise matins
trouble ; that honours were bubbles ;
riches toys, pleasures dreams; that, in
short, there was nothing substantial but
ease and indifference; and that, conse-
quently, a country abode, with a garden,
a few books, and a single domestic,
were the ultima Thule of hiuiian happiness.
Marco's valour had been approved,
more than once, as a volunteer upon
sufficiently memorable occasions ; there-
fore, without fear of being stigmatised
with cowardice, he suddenly announced
his intention of sitting down for life, as
a philosophic solitary.
Before Cesario left Genoa, he saw this
fantastic personage tranquilly installed
in a small house, that once belonged to
a falconer, on the banks of the Pol-
civejra.
Thus, bereft of his usual companion,
Cesario had to go through the dangerous
scene of announcing his own departure
to the Signora Brignoletti.
THE KNIGHT OF ST. J OHX. 153
It was in the gardens of the Palazzo,
where the Marchesa had given a moon-
light supper in an open pavilion.
Part of the company were enjoying
the beautiful night among groves of
breathing rose and orange trees ; some
stood listening to the tinkling sound of
fountains, or to strains of music issuing
from the house. The Marchesa sat with
her daughter on the alabaster steps of
the pavilion, seemingly attentive to the
progress of a wreath of flowers which
Beatrice was sportively twisting for her
own hair, but in reality watcliing the
steps of Cesario, and keeping him off by
her threatening frown.
Cesario was alternately sauntering and
leaning under the shade of an acacia,
with two or three persons, of whose con
versation his sense took no cognisance.
His head was continually turned towards
the pavilion, where the peculiar cha-
racter of Beatrice's charms appeared
H 5
154 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
heightened by their contrast with sur-
rounding objects.
The pale moon-light, and the cold
whiteness of the portico, were opposed
to the glow of her complexion, and the
speaking fire of her eyes: the tranquillity
of the flowers and trees, (for no breeze
disturbed them,) was contrasted by her
rapid and animating movements. She
seemed to Cesario the sole principle of
life and motion in this lovely scene ; and
as much intoxicated by the contemplation
of her beauty, as agitated by the thought
of quitting her, he walked with a hurried
and unequal pace, which the forbidding
looks of the Marchesa kept still far from
the pavilion.
Happily for Cesario' s wishes, the un-
expected ascent of some fire-works at a
distance made every one start from tlieir
position, and run towards the Pine-mount
whence it proceeded. In the rush and
■confusion, Beatrice escaped from her
mother, and was soon near enough to
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 155
Cesario for him to join her. ** Ah, what
a tiresome evening this has been !" she
said, in reply to the eloquent glance of
his eyes.
" One of torture to me!" replied Ce-
sario, with ill-repressed emotion, " for I
wished to tell you that we sail to-morrow^
and I had a boon to ask."
" Then it really sails after all !" cried
Beatrice, tears suffusing her bright eyes;
*< O why did you not do as Marco Doria
has done !"
" What 1 renounce the hope of dis-
tinction, and shut myself up in a moun-
tain-hovel ?"
*' A j>erson might be much happier
there than in such an odiously-fine place
as this," was the reply of Beatrice.
*< And could the Signora Brignoletti
find happiness in such a lot ?" asked
Cesario, his heart quivering on his lips.
The Signora did not answer; but she
refused not the hand he wildly clasped in
both his. For the short instant duiing
H 6
156 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHK,
which he retamed this wiUing hand^
Cesario saw no other image than such a
mountain-hut with Beatrice and felicity.
He was on the point of telhng her so>
(all lost to reason as he was,) when tlie
steps of persons approaching made him
check the tide of passion. First pausing,
then gently drawing a ring from one of
her passive fingers, he whispered in ac-
cents of smothered fire — " O let me cast
myself at your feet in this spot to-morrow
morning, before the first matin bell, — 1
sail at the second.'*
Beatrice faltered out the permission he
sought: Cesario ardently kissed the hand,
which he instantly released j and tore
himself away.
Cesario saw nothings felt nothing, re-
membered nothing but this ring, and the
manner in which it had been rendered to
him. He could not recall, how^ Beatrice
had looked when he made the bold theft;
for at that instant a mist covered his
sight, and he lost every other thought in
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 1.^7
the agony of transport with which he felt
her soft finger yielding its treasure.
What needed he more, to tell him that
he reigned absolute in her heart, and
that she was ready to flee with him from
wealth and grandeur to the mountain
life he had described ? ^\liat needed he
more, to animate him on his way to peril
and glory?
But when is that heart satisfied, where
love rules like a tyrant ? Cesario thirsted
to hear the voice of Beatrice confirm the
assurance of her eyes ; he longed to cast
himself at her feet, and exhale there his
ardent soul in vows and thanks. Perhaps
he dared to imagine her pressed to his
sighing breast, and bedewed with farewell
tears, too sacred for passion to profane I
Burdened with its own fulness, his
heart did indeed languish for participa-
tion with hers ; and, wishing the night
annihilated, he reached the house of the
Syndic, unconscious of his own move-
ments.
158 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN
There was no sleep for Cesario during
the hours that intervened between this
period and that in which he hurried out
to keep his appointment in the Rosso
gardens.
He had previously taken leave of the
good Syndic : his equipage was on board;
and he therefore had no more to do in
Genoa than to see his enchantress.
' As he approached the gate of St.
Thomas, he was overtaken by the Prince
of Melfi, attended by some of his officers :
" Well met, Adimari," cried the Prince,
taking his arm and impelling him forward,
« you have just been summoned. The
pirates are out, — the wind serves. —
Now, for your first throw, for death or
glory !"
Never before did those two words
sound appallingly to Cesario : he turned
pale y and he hesitated in his walk. A
look of astonishment from the Prince
brought the crimson back to his cheek ;
and, shocked at the interpretation to which
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 159
his pvesent agitation was liable, he stam-
mered out, — " I could have wished not to
have been summoned, till I had taken
leave of a friend, who must now be wait-
ing for me : — and if"
" You cannot have a moment!" inter-
rupted Doria, hurrying him on. " Your
friend, or your mistress, must console
themselves with the news of your future
exploits."
Cesario saw there was no remedy;
and rousing his spirit from its trance of
love,
*' Like dew-drops shaken from the hon's mane,"
the image of Beatrice, of parting tears,
benedictions, and embraces, fled at once
from his mind : he thought of contests
and conquests, of wounds and crowns,
of his father's fame, and his country's
gratitude.
( 160 )
CHAPTER X.
The saffi^on of early morning had just
changed into the rosy hue that precedes
sunrise, when Cesario reached the place
of embarkation. The harbour was all in
motion. The heavy ships were standing
out to sea with all their sails set : the gal-
liots and brigantines were rowing. with
quick and regular strokes to the sound
of martial instruments: different-coloured
flags were seen flying from the masts*
heads, or sweeping the blue waves with
their majestic folds.
Boats passing to and fro; persons
running to the east and western moles,
to catch a last glimpse of their departing
friends ; handkerchiefs waving ; voices
callings oars splashing j signal-guns an-
THE KNIOHT OF ST. JOHN. l6l
swering each other from the vessels and
the citadel ; the sea and the land all
in motion; and above all, the Turkish
cruisers specking the horizon ; formed so
many picturesque and animating objects,
that Cesario caught the contagion of en-
thusiasm, and, for the next six hours,
thought only of battle and victory.
'• The Tyrrhene seas did glitter all with flame;
Up sprung the cry of men, and trumpet's blast.**
When those six hours had terminated,
the Genoese fleet were masters of the
watery field : they had given chase to
the pirates, overtaken, encountered, and
conquered them.
Part of the enemy's galliots now fol-
lowed in the triumphant train of the
Capitanata; the small remainder wertr
either sunk, or seeking shelter in the
obscure ports of the adjacent islands.
The action had been fiercely contested.
Animated by the deadliest feelings of
revenge and animosity,, each party had
l62 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
exerted the most determined and obsti-
nate resolution. Death or victory seemed
to have been the motto under which they
fought ; and deeds of valour were per-
formed, which in themselves would have
immortalised the arm that wrought them,
but that all were heroes, all fighting as
if the fate of the battle rested on each
individual exertion.
Cesario, now foremost in the ranks of
death, felt this soul-inspiring thought;
and, emulative of his great leader's fame,
sought by some mightier effort to become
conspicuous in the dreadful conflict. In
vain he set his life at nought to win this
pre-eminence ; each fearless deed was
seconded ; the glorious example of their
chief had fired all ranks, and he saw that
no common daring could lift him above
his dauntless companions.
Fortune at this moment, as if in re-
ward for his exertions, now smiled on
them, and pointed to the long-wished
and ardently-desired opportunity.
THE KMGHT OF ST. JOHN. l63
Their infidel adversary, (carrying the
commander-in-chief's flag,} defeated, and
nearly destroyed, after a most determined
but unavailing resistance, was now at-
tempting to clear herself from her oppo-
nent, and escape : Cesario, whose eagle
eye had vratched every turn of the fight,
perceived her intention ; and maddening
with the anticipated joy of reaching that
pinnacle of glory he had so nobly striven
for, called on a few of his gallant follow-
ers to support him, and threw himself
into the enemy's vessel.
Amazement seized the Turks at this
desperate act of valour ; they were
thrown into confusion ; assistance poured
iu from Doria's vessel ; and Cesario soon
found himself in possession of the Tiu'k-
ish admiral's sword and ship.
This gallant action had been witnessed
and duly appreciated; all ranks joined
in bestowing the highest honours on the
youthful warrior, and hailing him the
hero of the fight.
164 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
On the deck of the captured vessel,
and in the presence of enemies and com-
patriots, Prince Gianettino embraced his
young lieutenant," — ** You have proved
yourself worthy of your father,'* he said,
and his eyes glistened. Cesario squeezed
the hero's hand in eloquent silence ; then,
more respectfully putting it to his lips,
returned such an answer as the occasion
demanded.
After so convincing " a proof of his
mettle," he had nearly as many enviers
as admirers ; but, awakened to a passion
for renown, and a sense of duty, by suc-
cess and eulogium, Cesario had no
thoughts to bestow on jealous infe-
riority ; he began to cherish hopes of
a destiny as brilliant as the lover of
Signora Brignoletti ought to aspire to ;
and to dream, for golden instants, of tlie
only equivalent he would ever accept in
the place of a patrimony cruelly with-
drawn— lands bestowed hereafter by
his country.
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. iGo
If these reveries were troubled at times,
it was by the recollection of the appoint-
ment he had made, and broken, with
Beatrice.
What must she have thought of him
while awaiting him in vain ? while walk-
ing through tliose dewy gardens, under
the grey dawn, hearing the momentary
gun that marked each departing ship ;
and then beholding the white sails of tlie
collected fleet hovering like a flight of
sea-fowl on the horizon ?
Could she have admitted a suspicion,
that any thing but imperious honour had
prevailed against his love ? — no — it was
impossible she could think otherwise :
and again and again Cesario fastened his
lips to that little circle of gold, where it
seemed as if all his future hopes were
contained.
Transports like these w^ere the luxu-
ries of his solitary moments ; all his social
hours were given to action and to enter-
prise.
166 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
Prince Doria had given him the com-
mand of a galley ; and as the roving
warfare of the pirates was best coped
with by the same adventurous methods,
Cesario's eagerness to distinguish him-
self rendered him more forward in the
dangerous but necessary boldness of
pui'suit.
The vSan Lorenzo (the ship Cesario
commanded) was giving chase to a
single galliot near the jocks of Corsica,
when the evening of a sultry day began
to darken, and some heavy clouds of
gloomy purple foretold a storm. The
galliot, familiar with the coast, and form-
ed to run in shallow water, ran safely in
shore under the shelter of the rocks ;
while the heavier galley of Cesario,
obliged to keep out to sea, remained
exposed to the violence of the rising
tempest.
Night thickened ; the winds began to
rage from every quarter of the heavens
by turns 5 the hoarse roar of the
15
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. IG7
breakers was heard, mixed with the
shriller cries of sea-birds ; the galley
laboured and groaned among the splash-
ing waves ; — still Cesario was loath to
relinquish his expected prey ; the master
at length bluntly told him, that unless he
gave up the pursuit, every soul must in-
evitably perish.
It was now indeed impossible to pursue
the pirate, who ran his lighter vessel
ashore in a friendly creek, where the
darkness and the situation favoured his
concealment ; the San Lorenzo therefore
made for the island of Pianosa.
Well built, and ably manned, the
Genoese galley rode out the storm during
the night, and, by day-break, as she
neared the island-rock, guns were heard
on the subsiding wind.
By the quivering light of their succes-
sive flashes, Cesario and his companions
found they proceeded from a vessel in
distress ; he returned her signals, and
every exertion was made to reach her.
168 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
The unhappy merchantman (for such
she was) had struck upon a low rock,
close to the desert Pianosa, and her
loosened planks were beginning to sepa-
rate.
Boats, crowded with women, children,
and mariners in the wildest despair, were
seen on the mountainous waves, strug-
gling to attain the friendly galley : those
whom the boats could not receive, had
cast themselves into the sea, catching at
spars, oars, any thing, in short, slight
enough to grasp, and strong enough to
bear them up.
Impatient of delay, Cesario had al-
ready thrown himself with a few sailors
into his own boat, and was making to-
wards the wreck, for he had discovered
on the remnant of the vessel some women
running in distraction to and fro, and a
single man, who, by his gestures, ap-
peared encouraging them to hope and
exertion.
By this time the dawn was much ad-
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 1^9
vanced, and objects, though indistinct,
gradually became more visible.
Cesario beheld with dismay the situ-
ation of the people.
The wind indeed had fallen, but the
sullen silence of the clouds above, was
broken by the deafening roai' of the
waves below ; a prodigious swell was
thundering forward, sweeping the help-
less wreck along with it.
That fearful swell carried her at once
over the rock where she had first struck ;
but, still rushing on with tremendous
force, dashed her against the more for-
midable rocks of the inner coast.
Her only remaining mast fell with a
loud crash, and, as it fell, the solitary
man upon the deck disappeared under
it: a shock, a shriek — O what a shriek !
— told Cesario that he came too late ;
the wi'etched vessel was now scattering
her timbers over the face of the waters.
The women clung to its floating frag-
ments with instinctive sense 5 but alas !
VOL. I. I
170 THE KNIGHT Of ST. JOHN.
their stunned companion lay senseless on
the surface.
Cesario was on the point of leaping
into the sea, and swimming through the
raging elements to this devoted victim ;
but aware that in doing so he must
perish without attaining the object de-
sired, he exerted all his own skill and
his men's courage, to impel their boat
foi'ward to their assistance.
As they proceeded they were menaced
with instant destruction on every side;
large masses of the wreck, impetuously
hurried by the current against their
slight boat, threatened to overturn it ;
rocks above and rocks below water sur-
rounded tliem ; but still manfully com-
bating every obstacle, they passed safely
through, and reached the given point.
The unfortunate man yet lay without
motion on the water ; the next instant
he must have sunk : but what will not
humanity attempt and courage execute ?
Cesario called on his men to keep the
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 171
boat steady, while he fearlessly plunged
out of it into the boiling surf.
It was but a moment of alarm and
strong emotion : the next instant he re-
gained the boat, with the object of his
solicitude in his arms.
The sailors had previously rescued the
women j the other boats had gained the
galley : not a soul had perished. Ce-
sario hastily passed his hand over his
eyes, to hide feelings which honoured
his manhood: the joyful conviction of
being the preserver of so many persons,
rendered his late martial triumph cold
and worthless in comparison; but this
was not a time for indulging in reflec-
tions of any kind, for the unfortunate
man whom he had saved still demanded
his care.
He now took him once more in his
arms, to observe whether life yet re-
mained : as he did so, the pale head
hung feebly backward, but the mild blue
eyes unclosed.
17^ THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHK.
Was it a dream, or did Cesario in
reality support upon his breast the man
he had avoided with so much passion?
Was it memory or fancy, working in his
mind, that told him he had just saved
the life of Giovanni Cigala ? and so re-
paid with overflowing measure all the
proofs of kindness which had been thrust
upon him by the only noble offspring of
that detested race !
The tremulous day was yet uncertain;
but he could not again mistake that face
when united with the soul which stamped
its individuality.
" Keep off! — he revives !" was his
hurried exclamation. Willing to have
that instant of strong emotion without
witnesses, he motioned to the sailors and
women to precede him into the galley,
which had now row^d up to them.
During the transfer of these persons, he
had time to collect his amazed thoughts.
Giovanni's hand was in his : hitherto it
had been motionless; but now a trem-
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 173
bling pressure conveyed his generous
gratitude. " Adimari !** he said, in low
accents, " Heaven ordains us to be
friends."
" O that some revelation from heaven
would indeed tell me so \" exclaimed Ce-
sario, transported out of himself by this
extraordinary adventure, and involun-
tarily straining Giovanni to his breast.
•* I owe my life to you," said Gio-
vanni, " and I devote it to you hence-
forth. Yes, whether you will or no."
Overcome with a rapid retrospect of
past times, at these words Cesario bowed
his head upon the shoulder of Giovanni ;
with a deep sigh, he said, ** In this hour
of agitation I am not myself; I know
not what I say ;" and, folding Giovanni
with his supporting arm, he called one of
the seamen to assist in raising him into
the galley.
Saved from death by the exertions of
Cesario, and thrown upon his humanity
for the remaining period of their cruise,
I 3
174.^ THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
Giovanni had powerful auxiliaries in these
circumstances : nay, even the weak parts
in the character of Cesario assisted him
in the conquest he sought over his pre-
judices.
His proud spirit was appeased by the
obligation he had already laid upon the
son of Paulo Cigala : he now thought
only of showing to him that an Adimari
scorned all revenge save that of added
services ; that while these services were
needed by one of the Cigali, he would
render them profusely ; but that neces-
sity over, the obliger and the obliged
must return into their former constrained
position.
Cesario had yet to learn his own heart :
he had yet to learn, also, the influence of
an enthusiastic interest, steady yet not
obtrusive ; forbearing, yet dignified ; ex-
traordinary, but not extravagant. He
had yet to learn, that even love itself
sufficed not for all the wants of a soul
like his, created to desire and to feel
THK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 175
every animated sentiment j to aspire after,
and, liaply, to reach every heroic virtue.
The injury Giovanni had sustained by
the fall of the mast, was aggravated by
a fever, which confined him entirely to
the rough couch of Cesario's cabin. Here,
when not required amongst his people,
Cesario came to assist in administering
to his ailments ; or to relieve the tedium
of solitary inaction, by reading or con-
versation.
At these times, Giovanni forbore to
speak either of his gratitude or his now-
rivetted resolution to win his friendship :
but the expression of his mildly-pene-
trating eye spoke volumes ; and Cesario*
from avoiding its fixture, grew to endure
its mute appeal 5 and, finally, to seek and
to love the look which laid bare that pure
and disinterested heart.
Giovanni, in his turn, became daily
more interested in the character and for-
tunes of Cesario -, the almost romantic
attraction be had felt towards him while
I 4-
176 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
he was an object rather of his imagin*
ation than his knowledge, seemed now
to be at once justifiable by reason, and
demanded by gratitude.
In their desultory conversations, where
feeling was seldom analyzed, but uni-
formly displayed, Cesario showed all the
varieties of his character. The nobleness
of his sentiments, contrasted with the
mediocrity of his destiny, was only the
more affecting: and that war between
ingenuous sympathy and exaggerated
duty, which never failed appearing when-
ever his father's memory crossed these
hours of intercourse, excited at once
respect and regret in the bosom of Gio-
vanni.
Once, indeed, unable to resist a pecu-
liarly tender tide of recollections which
the mention of liis father's early career
caused to flow, he spoke at laige of that
cherished parent ; he described his gentle
manners and gracious countenance ; his
bounteous and ever-open h:yid } his un-
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN". 177
blemished life and guileless heart, which
seemed remnants of the golden age : he
painted his love and reverence of that
honoured parent, with all the eloquence
of profound sensibility ; and, as the mois-
ture which clouded his own eyes was re-
flected by that of Giovanni's, now fixed
on him with brotherly expression, he for-
got his hated lineage, and said in broken
accents, " Oh, you were worthy to have
known him !"
Giovanni could with difficulty master
the pleasurable emotion which struggled
to have way : he raised himself from his
couch, took and squeezed Cesario's hand.
Cesario's heart took alarm at that sign of
confidence : the expression of tenderness
subsided from his countenance, while that
of trouble and of self-reproach succeeded.
He fixed his eyes earnestly upon Gio-
vanni, as, profoundly sighing, he said, in
an altered voice, — ** Man cannot control
destiny ; and he must submit to it." While
I 5
178 THE KNIGHT OF ST, JOHN.
he spoke, he dropped Giovanni's hand,
and left him.
When they met again, it was on the
ensuing day in the stern gallery, where
Giovanni, for the first time, was allowed
to breathe the free air.
A signal from the Admiral had just
declared the objects of the expedition
attained, and turned all the fleet home-
wards. The San Lorenzo was now coast-
ing the shores of the Papal states; and ere
a few days should elapse, her victorious
flag would be flying in the port of
Genoa.
Would that event at once dissolve the
union of mind, if it were not to be called
one of heart, between the preserver
and the preserved ? would the sight of
places^ where he had suffered real anguish
and supposed wrong, revive the slum-
bering resentment and antipathy of Ce-
sario ? would he, indeed, have the cruel
courage to tear himself from all inter-
course with a man, who had sympathised
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN'. 179
with his worthiest feeling ? would he in-
flict such a wound upon a trusting breast ?
When tliey met in the gallery, after the
first interchange of good wishes, and the
performance of some kind offices on the
part of Cesario, Giovanni fell into a re-
verie, during which he asked himself
these questions.
Cesario, meanwhile, was thinking of a
far different subject.
As the galley glided through glassy
waves, under a beautiful morning sky,
he stood, not far from Giovanni, leaning
on the railing of the balcony, completely
abstracted from surrounding things. Gio-
vanni's attention was insensibly attracted
by the peculiar and varying expressions
of his countenance. At times he saw his
cheek kindle, and his eyes sparkle with
sudden brilliancy ; then the colour and
the light would fade from both, and
softness, even to languor, steal over his
features.
Unconscious of the tremor and Ire-
1 6
1§0 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHIT-
quency of his sighs, Cesario continued to
muse and to sigh ; and once, quite lost to
every other idea, he carried Beatrice's
ring to his lips, and held it there in a
trance of fond remembrances.
This action, coupled with the look by
which it was accompanied, fixed a floating
suspicion in the mind of Giovanni. He
had observed much in the conduct and
conversation of Cesario, which warranted
the belief of his being attached to some
lady in Genoa ; and now, while anxiously
contemplating his agitated countenance,
he grieved to think, that this affection,
though returned by its object, might be
thwarted by unkind relatives, or rendered
abortive by mutual poverty.
<« Had my imprudent sister been this
chosen object I" he said to himself, in-
dulging a momentary vision of generous
improbabilities, " all might have been
made up to him T'
Giovanni had touched the most painful
chord of his own heart by this spon-
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 181
taneous reflection ; and, drawn from the
consideration of Cesario by hopes and
fears about his sister, he withdrew his
eyes, which unconsciously took the va-
cant fixture of deep thought, and pur-
sued a train of troubled meditation.
A demand for orders, from some sailors,
who had rowed round the stern, recalled
Cesario to himself 5 and having given
them the necessary commands, he turned
from his own tumultuous thoughts to seek
the conversation of Giovanni.
But for once he found Giovanni self-
absorbed ; never had Cesario seen him
look so absolutely sad; and penetrated
by that unusuai expression, in proportion
to his own expectation of coming hap-
piness, he drew near and sat down by
him.
" Cigala, something distressing em-
ploys your mind !" he said this in a tone
of lively interest : ** I would 1 could charm
it away, before we part." He made a
short pause between the first sentence of
182 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
this address, and the few concluding
words, which he strove to say in a lighter
manner.
*« And are we io part, Adimari?"
asked Giovanni, raising his full mild eye,
and laying on him a hand chilled by
painful surprise.
<« We ought — we must," — was Ce-
sario's answer, hemming away a sigh,
and averting his head.
« What ! part to meet no more ?" re-
peated Giovanni.
« No more on earth — at least not as
we meet now," resumed Cesario v/ith
seriousness. "You were aware of my
principles — prejudices, if you please-
long ago — I hope you are not very much
surprised to find that I still believe it my
duty to abide by them ?"
It is a strange inconsistency in human
nature, that when we are obliged to say
or do an unkind thing, and feel most pain
from that necessity, we always try to hide
our concern under an appearancg of
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 183
hardness or indifference. Something like
remorse, in truth it was regret, tugged
at Cesario's heart-strings : yet he main-
tained his air of chilling determination,
and moved a few steps away, to conceal
his inward struggle.
Giovanni looked after him with earnest
observation : a long silence followed.
At length he said, *' I am surprised -—
and how grieved, I forbear to say. I
wish you had not bestowed on me the
useless obhgation of life saved : for what
is it to a man, standing alone in the
world, bereft of kindred, outraged by
love, and denied friendship ?"
" You have loved then. Cicala?**
exclaimed Cesario, turning on hira a
countenance all melting v/ith kindly sym-
pathy.
** I have," repHed Giovanni, <« and I
remember enough of its pains, to wish
you nothing but its joys. Go, Adimari ;
I read your feelings in your face ; — -
would, I coidd read your destiny also ! —
184 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
if that were all prosperity, here would I
quit my hold upon your heart ; and let
you loose to that happiness, which you
will not even permit me to witness and
rejoice in : but if it is to be otherwise ; if
you suspect, that you are destined to
drink the bitter cup I have drunk of,
then nothing shall make me leave you till
I have wrung your promise of claiming
my grateful sympathy in that day of
desolation."
*« That day will never come !" ex-
claimed Cesario, rapturously. ** Witness
this precious pledge of love, for which
princes might contend in vain. A moun-
tain-hut with me — yes, Beatrice ; so
spoke those flowing eyes, when "
'* I must not steal your confidence,"
interrupted Giovanni, seeing him hurried
out of himself j and, as he spoke, he
rose.
" Stay, Cigala — stay!" cried Cesario:
while saying so, he pushed him gently
back, and seeing him remain, took seve-
THE Knight of st. john. IS5
ral turns up and down the gallery, m
troubled silence.
If grief be hard to bear alone, happi-
ness unshared is intolerable. Never
had Cesario groaned so powerfully for
the sympathies of friendship ; and never,
till now, had Giovanni's image presented
itself to him in the light of one seeking
compassion and sympathy.
With a sister, w^hose fate w^as involved
in mystery ; a youth, blighted by unre-
quited or unfortunate love, was not Gio-
vanni Cigala fitted to excite, and to i'eel,
that species of friendship which, tinc-
tured by the chivalrous spirit of their age,
had in it all the ardour without the in-
firmity of passion ? Would not his gentler
temper assist Cesario in moderating the
impetuosity of his ? Were the elder Adi-
mari, in heaven, allow^ed to select a bosom
confidant for his son on earth, would he
not choose such an one as Giovanni ? and
were that sainted parent able to reveal his
186 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
sentiments on this trying question, what
would they be ?
Cesario pressed his throbbing temples
with his hand, as he paused upon these
questions. Again he asked himself, what
would his father's sentiments be? and
the reply was, — affection for Giovanni's
admirable and estimable qualities ; sen-
sibility to his attachment ; grateful re-
membrance of all he had offered, and all
he had done, to soothe the pain of wounds
which he could not prevent !
By the elder Adimari's silent resent-
ment at the supposed ingratitude of
Prince Doria, had he not distinctly de-
livered it as his opinion, that; a man is
bound, by indissoluble ties, to him who
has saved his life ? Thus, then, Gio-
vanni's persevering attachment took the
stamp of a duty ; and if it were virtue in
him to persevere, it must be culpable or
cruel in his preserver to resist.
" Am I absolved, then, from the sin
of impiety, if I link my heart with Ci-
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOH^. 1 87
gala ?*' asked Cesario, inwardly. ** Is it
enough that again and again I spumed
his offered kindness, when I had no
friend to console me, no heart to beat,
like his, in generous sympathy with
mine ? Then I might have doubted the
disinterestedness of my gratitude ; but
now, O, my father ! may I not forget that
he is the son of thy destroyer, and think
of him but as one to whom I may lament
thee?''
During this internal address, he stood
with his face buried in his hands. Gio-
vanni watched him from a short distance,
with extreme anxiety. Suddenly Cesario
approached : he stretched out his arms,
his face beaming through tears. Gio-
vanni precipitated himself upon his neck,
and there, locked in a strong embrace,
their hearts silently exchanged the vow
of friendship.
If their delight in each other's so-
ciety had hitherto been great, what was
it now, when reserve on the one side,
188 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
and apprehension on the other, gave
way before the full tide of mutual confi-
dence ?
The story of Giovanni's past, and Ce-
sario's present love, occupied many suc-
ceeding hours. Cesario was moved by
the vivid picture Giovanni drew of his
former sensibility to the most powerful
of human passions ; but more astonished,
that, having once felt such a passion, he
should live to look back on those days
without anguish that they were over.
It could not arise from coldness of
character, he thought ; for with what
enthusiasm did he speak of the chivalric
profession into which he had then thrown
himself; and with what romantic per-
severance had he sought his friendship !
Was it then the natural march of human
feeling ? Cesario shuddered at the chil-
ling supposition : for love was now a
spurce of such bliss to him, that he fan-
cied even its torments preferable to its
extinction.
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 189
The openness with which he expressed
this astonishment might have tempted
another man into justifying his own sen-
sibility, by explaining the soberising ef-
fects of time, and of reason, earnestly
called into action ; but, unwilling to
rend the bright blossoms of youthful im-
agination, Giovanni forbore to detail the
progress of his mind from grief to indig-
nation, from indignation to scorn, and
at last to indifference. He simply said,
" From the moment of my profession, I
devoted the powers of my mind, and
the affections of my heart, to higher pur-
poses : I devoted myself to a life of
singleness and the cros's. Is it wonder-
ful, then, that my soul should reject
every remembrance of a sentiment which
its object had dishonoured in my eyes,
and that I shoukl consider the vow which
bound me to refrain from woman's love,
not as bondage, but as freedom ? I
know not wliat the destiny of my heart
might ha\e been, had my attachment
190 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
been as truly returned as yours, and my
mistress torn from me by death or duty :
as it is, I have done with every inclina-
tion of the kind.''
Cesario smiled — " You will love again,
and find happiness."
" No : friendship will content me,*'
replied Giovanni ; and the satisfaction,
as well as purity of heaven, shone in his
serene eyes.
Cesario shook his head, without speak-
ing ; but his smile, and the incredulous
action of his head, required no com-
ment.
The conversation again reverted to
Signora Brignoletti. Beatrice was per-
sonally unknown to Giovanni ; he there-
fore took his idea of her from the por-
trait painted by her lover.
Coloured by that lover's vivid sensi-
bility, her portrait was, indeed, charm-
ing : it was Beauty, without thought of
power ; Youth, in all [its innocence and
ardour j Love, undisguised, because pure
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 191
and generous : in short, it was all that
would have given happiness in those
blissful days, when the affections and
duties were man's only law-givers, and the
tyranny of prejudices and the distinc-
tions of society were unknown.
But, alas! those blissful times were
past, and Giovanni saw in their stead a
host of difficulties betv/een his friend's
wishes and their object.
Beatrice was very young : m.ost likely,
therefore, timid in spirit ; long-continued
opposition from her relatives might even-
tually harass her into giving up her own
inclinations. Possibly she might have
the instability of her age ; and time, or a
new object, cause her fancy to alter.
But of all the obstacles to Cesario's
success which Giovanni imagined, none
appeared to him so formidable, and so
sure of checking his fond career, as Ce-
sario's own principles. At present, in-
toxicated with the joy of beholding his
fair mistress, and being permitted to tell
192 THE KNIGHT OF ST^ JOHN.
her how absolute she reigned over his
affections, Cesario dreamt not of a wish
beyond, nor anticipated the period when
headlong passion would demand its ut-
most gratification, and meditate seizing
it at the expense of Beatrice's duty and
his ow^n honour.
Giovanni foresaw this period, and
rightly believed that Cesario would then
shrmk with horror from the baseness of
persuading a young woman^ to abandon
her first duties, and act in open rebellion
against her sole remaining parent. Nay,
were even that parent's consent to be
wrung from her by importunities or per-
severance, how would Cesario's pride en-
dure the humiliation of owing dignity
and riches to his wii'e ? How would his
jealous reputation bear the probable mis-
conception of public opinion ?
Giovanni felt and reasoned thus ibr
his friend ; but, as yet, their bond of
amity was too newly knit to warrant him
in urging a sacrilice of this inauspicious
THE KXIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 193
attadiment: he could only resolve to
watch its progress with an attentive eye,
and to seize the first troubled feeling of
Cesario, as a fortunate opportunity fbr
enlarging upon those motives, which he
ventured to hope, would be all-powerful
with one so ingenuous and so just.
If Giovanni ever indulged a selfish
joy, this was the period in which he was
the most inchned to it : for, in attaining
Cesario's friendship, he had acquired
that, which for six years, he had sought
in vain — a source of deep, increasing,
interest, calculated to nourish that gene-
rous sympathy which might be said to
constitute his very being, and which had
languished hitherto for want of aliment.
Giovanni's soul did, in truth, realise
the beau ideal of those enchanting min-
strels of the " olden time," whose songs
immortalise some fancied hero, capable
of love without desire, and friendship
excelling even that disinterestedness, in
its capacity of sacrificing the hopes of
VOL. I. K
19^ THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
love to impregnable fidelity. Had the
outward expression of this character
been more marked, or fluently professed
by him who bore it, those who studied
it might have believed it the result of a
strong aspiration after excellence, and
consequent victory over human weak-
ness ; but so calmly and uniformly did
it appear, on every occasion, in Gipvanni,
that it was impossible not to consider it
as the involuntary habit of a soul ibllow-
ing its own nature, without resistance or
effort.
Although this tranquil constancy
stamped a sacred character upon qua-
lities which might otherwise have seemed
romantic, Giovanni was less likely to
kindle enthusiasm in his admirers, than
to excite in them that still, profound
satisfaction, with which we contemplate
beatified natures.
Even that which now constituted his
own especial gratification, in this new
bond of amity, was more an animating
THE KNIGHT Of ST. JOHN. 1^6
hope of benefitting Cesario hereafter,
than the prospect (delightful as it was)
of solacing himself with his fraternal
affection.
He foiesaw the near approach of that
crisis in Cesario's connection with Sig-
nora Brignoletti, when either his assaulted
principles would require the encourage-
ment of friendship, to assist him in van-
quishing strong temptation to act wron^
or his betrayed love demand sympathy
and consolation.
" My heart shall support him in that
trial," he said to himself; and Giovanni
soothed his own prophetic sadness with
this kindly thought.
It was so sweet to him, to witness
every day the rapid increase of Cesario's
confidence ; and to observe the noble
elements of a character, not yet reduced
to that harmonious order, that frame of
moral beauty, to which they seemed des-
tined, that he could have chidden the
K 2
1 96 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
favourable gales, now speeding them on
their way home.
But Giovanni was incapable of selfish-
ness, even thus ennobled ; and he turned
with pleasure to the certainty of his
friend's honourable welcome from his
country, after the acquisition of so much
renown.
Cesario, on his part, was never weary
^f listening to the wide-reaching conver-
sation of his friend. His own habits had
been more active than studious; and
though he knew the histories of past
ages, he rather remembered than re-
flected on them.
Giovanni's remarks taught him that
all the instruction of history lies in the
important lessons it gives; not in its
otherwise sterile list of facts. He taught
him to carry every thing back to his
own heart, and his own conduct ; to esti-
mate men's actions by their motives ;
and while observing the tissue of their
crimes, and virtues, and inconsistencies.
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 197
to remark, how surely they all tend, in
the hand of Providence, to the great
work of human improvement.
By directing his attention to this ana-
lysis of characters and circumstances,
Giovanni shook many of Cesario's fa-
vourite and fostered prejudices : but he
shook them with so gentle a touch, that
Cesario's pride was not roused to defend
them; and thus left to the operations of
truth and tenderness, they were gradu-
ally giving way.
Giovanni beheld his growing influence
with generous exultation : for he sought
Cesario's happiness ; and he wisely be-
lieved, that he who weeds out a fault,
and plants a virtue in a friend, does far
more for his comfort, even here, than he
that bestows on him all the earthly ob-
jects of man's desire.
K 3
( 198
CHAPTER XL
When the victorious gallies were peace-
fully moored in the harbour of Genoa,
Prince Doria procured for his young
officer, the public thanks of the seigniory.
Those thanks were followed, in private,
by the offer of a pecuniary reward in
recompense of the Capitain-Basha's ves-
sel. At that moment, Cesario thought
only of his father : he forgot his bondaged
fortune; he forgot even Beatrice; and,
transported with filial feelings, could only
say, ** A monument for my father in the
cathedral of San Siro j and this, and all
my future services are over-paid !"
Some eyes were moist that looked on
him, as he pronounced these words.
The request was immediately granted;
THE K^fIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 199
and Cesario himself was empowered to su-
perintend its execution. It was not the
costly marble of which this memorial was
afterwards formed; it was not the story of
Gianettino Doria's deliverance, sculp-
tured on its front; it was not the actual
banner, then saved with the prince, and
now floating over the pictured scene ; it
was not even the proud distinction of
its being erected by the hands of his
country, which wrought Cesario's joy
almost to transport. It was the consci-
ousness that he had earned this trophy
with his blood ; and thus proved himself
worthy the name of him to whom it was
dedicated.
In this pious joy, Giovanni could now
mingle his faithful spirit, without dread
of repulse. When the monument was
placed in the church of San Siro, Cesario,
in a paroxysm of re-awakened grief and
exultation, ran to throw himself upon
Giovanni's breast.
On that kindly breast, he feared not to
K 4
£00 THE KKTGHT OF ST. .TOHK.
give those tender feelings way ; beneath-
that gracious eye, he suffered his tears
to flow, cease, and gush again, in alter-
nate gusts of recollected and present
happiness, of regret and gratitude, of
pain and pleasure.
Giovanni pressed him in a strong em-
brace, while silently witnessing these
bui'sts of an over- wrought sensibility*
*< Alas, what materials of misery, perhaps,
are here,'* he said inwardly; "yes: — of
misery, in this brief world ; but of double
felicity in the world of spirits." And at
that thought, the cloud hanging over
Giovanni's heavenly countenance at once
fled.
Cesario recovered from his stormy
transports, only to run back to the church
of San Siro ; to feast his eyes again with
the sight of his father's monument; to
return once more to Giovanni ; and to
lose, in his fraternal sympathy, all re-
membrance of his relationship to the de-
stroyer of that honoured parent.
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 201
Hearts so knit, hearts so cemented ;
Avere they ever to be rent asunder?
O frail estate of man !
After the accomplishment of this sacred
object, Cesario restored himself to Bea-
trice. He had sought her immediately
on landing at Genoa; and had obtained,
in that sudden and accidentally private
interview, a full confirmation of what the
yielded ring had promised.
He taught her to consider this ring as
the talisman by which his late achieve-
ment had been operated : as such, she
heard with increased joy of the honours
awarded him by the seigniory ; and though
she sometimes upbraided him, with sweet
injustice, for devoting nearly all his
hours to urge the completion of his
father's memorial, her anger never out-
lasted the first kiss which he printed on
her willing hand.
Cesario was now hurrying along a swift
stream of transport, that, by its rapidity,
Jeft him not time to look steadily on the
K 5
202 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
brilliant objects past which it was sweep-
ing; nor to think of the frightful regions
into which it might eventually bear him.
He was sensible but to present felicity ;
and, far from the horrid images of guilt
and self-reproach, dreamt not, that even
the tide of happiness, when not watched
in its flow, may glide at last into their
gloomy confines.
The cold salutations of the March esa
had no longer power to chill his hopes :
he followed Beatrice like her shadow ;
and as she scarcely endeavoured to veil
her partiality for one whom a brilliant
action covered with glory, even the re-
straints and the distractions of large so-
cieties did but feebly shade the lustre of
his enjoyments*
The mountain-hut was forgotten : Bea-
trice sparkled brightest in the brightest
scenes : her gay caprices charmingly va-
ried the settled forms of a life of repre-
sentation ; and what would elicit these in
the calm of retirement ?
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 203
Cesario began to covet honours and
rewards for the sake of her, whose habits
made riches, or at least distinction, neces-
sary. He therefore panted impatiently
for another opportunity of deserving and
winning both.
Though loving w^ith all the ardour of a
first passion, he retained sufficient reason-
ableness to see the folly of seeking the
Marchesa Brignoletti's consent to his
union with her daughter. At present, the
celebrity of his name was but just rising
above the ruins of his father's fortune :
the former was yet to be extended ; the
latter, to be new made : then, and not
till then, could he venture to express his
wishes.
Cesario submitted to this necessity,
but he abhorred the thought of shroud-
ing his attachment by any artifice. Too
honest, and too proud, to purchase the
Marchesa's forbearance by the sacrifice
of self-esteem, he left the secret of his
K 6
^04 THE KNIG«T OF ST. JOHN*
heart free to shine out on his counte-
nance and in his actions.
This principle, very early avowed to
Beatrice, checked her from uttering a
different one ; and she therefore contented
herself with smiling her sanction to the
candour of her lover, while she cunningly
rendered the light veil of her own heart
a little less transparent.
Beatrice well knew that her mother's
smothered suspicion of Cesario's atten-
tions, before he went to sea, would now
break out in peremptory commands, un-
less some adroit stratagems were used to
lull her alarm.
She had not courage to confess her
attachment ; much less her determina-
tion to abide by it : besides, since she had
wrested the avowal of his passion from
him, she felt the very opposite of a desire
to run into a desert with him.
Though she loved Cesario, she loved
pleasure also; and half her heart's joy
consisted in seeing him slight every other
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 205
beauty for her sake. There were many
beauties, whose advances Cesario abso-
lutely shunned. All this* triumph would
cease in the mountain-hut : it was there-
fore her policy to wait the turns of ac-
cident, and meanwhile parry her mother's
suspicions.
To effect this, Beatrice affected entire
confidence in her mother ; raUied herself,
w^ith great spirit, upon her evident con-
quest of so exalted a personage as the
ruined son of Francisco Adimari; sported
with the details of his tender speeches
^nd jealous looks; and, in fine, perfectly
succeeded in making her mother believe,
^ that she despised the lover, while she
liked the love ^ and that a little vanity,
and a little mischief, were her only sti-
mulants.
Beatrice, in reality, was amused by the
success of her scheme ; and, hurrying
over tlie question of its morality, she
found in it as much food for mirtlr as
iihelter for inclination.
^06 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
Cesario, unsuspicious of any under-
plot, saw things just as they seemed:
and, perhaps, too happy for reflection
upon his happiness, might never have
observed the relaxed brow of the Mar-
chesa, had not his friend Giovanni gently
hinted at her future prohibition of his
visits.
Then it was that Cesario first remarked
the tranquillity with which she now saw
his passion for her daughter ; and catch-
ing fire at the thought, his hopes blazed
forth at once into certainty.
Surely this quiescence was a tacit per-
mission to win Beatrice by noble exploits!
He was yet but entering the road of
honour, it is true, and had fortune to
retrieve ; but the blood of kings and
princes filled his veins, rendering it more
than worthy to mingle with that of the
Brignoletti.
The Marchesa must know that his
ancestors were sovereigns where he now
possessed not a rood of land j holding the
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 20?
title of Counts of Genoa for more than
three centuries. She must know, that
they claimed kindred with the illustrious
Pepin, by whom their jurisdiction was
bestowed j and that, although sunk to
absolute poverty in their solitary repre-
sentative, remembrance of his family was
still coupled, in the minds oi' men, with
ideas of magnificence and power.
Giovanni listened to the visionary
transport of his friend with painful scep-
ticism. The Marchesa was not likely to
be thus actuated by the mere shadows of
precious things, when their realities might
be offered to her daughter by more for-
tunate rivals. Yet such romance was
possible ; or rather it was possible that
an excess of maternal fondness might in-
duce her to sacrifice her own wish of an
equal alliance for her daughter, to that
daughter's peculiar happiness.
Giovanni wished this might prove the
case, but he ventured not to hope it ;
yet too tender for the severest office of
S08 THE KNtGHT OF ST. JOMK*
friendship, he contented himself witii
turning the projects of Cesario's love to-
wards the interests of his glory.
After signalising himself in the de-
fence of his country and the protection
of Christendom, should this cherished
friend be disappointed of the lovely re-
ward which now animated him, still there
would remain for him the substantial pos-
sessions of an honourable reputation, re-
vived fortunes, and the consciousness of
high desert.
In Giovanni's estimation, these bless-
ings, with friendship added, included all
that life had of desirable and noble; and
while he contemplated the possibility of
disappointment to his friend's passion, he
believed that such a catastrophe would
eventually lead that ardent soul, as it had
impelled his own, to fix upon great and
imperishable objects alone.
Beatrice was yet personally unknown
to Giovanni ; for the latter found much
to occupy his time after his return home,
13
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 209
and the former had little inclination to
make the acquaintance of one whom she
persisted in imagining disagreeable, be-
cause he had once been almost a monk,
and was, even now, resolved never to
marry.
In truth, Beatrice generally felt pretty
accurately upon most subjects without
the trouble of reasoning : and, though
quite unreflecting upon her own conduct,
seemed to know by intuition that her
lover's friend would scrutinise and con-
demn what that dazzled lover admired.
Giovanni might detect her subtle game
with the Marchesa ; and if once he di-
rected Cesario*s eyes to the fact, she felt
certain that her humiliation in her lover's
opinion would be the immediate conse-
quence.
Beatrice was yet too unpractised to
have divined the baneful secret of making
an excess of love her apology for every
violation of dignity or morality : a secret,
it is said, by which the loftiest manly
210 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
character is bent to the most degrading
connections.
She knew that Cesario's censure would
overwhelm her with shame ; and she
therefore studiously avoided the person
whose discernment and austere principles
threatened her little artifices with de-
struction.
Under these impressions, Beatrice
evaded Giovanni*s introduction j and she
did this the more easily from his frequent
absences.
He was desirous of providing for the
shelter and refreshment of the humbler
order of travellers among the wild moun-
tains leading into Lombardy ; and for
this purpose he promoted and superin-
tended the erection of several small
buildings, where both rest and refresh-
ment were to be furnished at his expense.
Another occupation, equally benevo-
lent in its object, but visionary in its
hopes, withdrew him yet more from so-
ciety ; stole him from his sleep, his food.
TH£ KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 211
his exercise, and rendered all things in-
different to him, excepting the company
of Cesario.
This occupation was the study of the
Genoese laws ; and the object he sought
to gain was the reversal of that sentence
by which he possessed the estate ©f Adi-
mari.
Ere he embraced the profession of
knighthood, Giovanni, in common with
every other Genoese youth, had devoted
much attention to legal studies : it was
the regular course in educating persons
destined from their birth to contend for
the highest offices in the republic.
He now returned to these studies with
a zest they had not before ; fondly be-
lieving he should find some forgotten
statute or precedent which might warrant
him in agitating a new process, and
finally restore to Cesario the home of his
ancestors.
Surrounded by books and parchments,
all speaking the same tasteless language.
^1^ THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
Giovanni was so often found by his
friend, that the latter could not forbear
rallying him on the sterile road his am-
bition had now chosen. Giovanni would
only smile, too happy in the conscious-
ness of seeking Cesario's benefit, and not
those civic honours of which he believed
himself as yet unworthy ; and for which,
indeed, neither his habits nor inclinations
fitted him.
His track, could he now have chosen
it, would have been the one his father
had withdrawn him from : it would have
been that of arms, pursued in the name
and for the interests of religion. But as
it was, with particular duties to fulfil,
and private friendship to gratify, he was
content to consider the situation of an
active citizen as that for which Provi-
dence had ordained him ; and to go on
in it content and cheerful.
Occupied as he was by his buildings
and his application to law-books, Gio-
vanni w^as too anxious to study the cha*
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 213
racter of a woman on whom Cesario's
peace depended, not to remark with con-
siderable mortification that every arrange-
ment for his visiting at the Palazzo Rosso
was continually frustrated by her frivolous
excuses.
Far from guessing the real reason —
her awe of, and distaste to his character, —
he concluded she must be of a jealous
disposition ; and that even friendship was
in her eyes a treachery to love.
Sometimes this conjecture made him
uneasy at the effect of her influence over
the heart she would rule so exclusively ;
but the apprehension lasted not a mo-
ment : Cesario's speaking countenance,
whatever else it expressed of sadness or
of joy unconnected with Giovanni, was
still expressive of grateful, spontaneous,
fraternal affection.
Still, with Giovanni only, did he talk
of his father and his boyish days : still,
with him only, did he give voice to the
day-dreams of a youthful soul, animated
^14 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
by the emulation of every thing noble,
every thing praiseworthy ; animated too
by love.
It is only when our hearts thus think
aloud in the presence of another, that we
have found a friend ; that noble abandon-
ment is the pledge of mutual faith.
Since their interchange of vows on the
deck of the San Lorenzo, Cesario and
Giovanni had opened to each otiier the
inmost recesses of their souls ; they had
led each other back from the full stream
of their present friendship to its hidden
sources.
In their mutual confessions, each found
more to esteem in the character of the
other : Cesario reproached his own proud
prejudices, which had ui'ged him so often
to repulse with bitterness the gentle na-
ture that approached him so amiably;
and Giovanni taxed himself with injustice
because he had not divined what it cost
Cesario to treat him with ferocity.
Thus each saw more to prize in his
THE KKIOHT OF ST. JOHN. 215
friend, and more to repent of in himself ;
consequently, the wish of repairing in-
justice gave fresh energy to the impulse
of inclination.
It was no longer bitterness for Cesario
to re-tread his father's steps on the ter-
race at the Marino, or to sit in the seat
he used to love, under the old cedar ;
tliis beloved spot was indeed no longer
his, but it was the property of one who
grieved over its possession ; who reve-
renced every memorial of the sacred
dead ; and who, v/hile apologising for his
unwilling detention of a place so dear,
by degrees convinced Cesario that justice
attached it to the Cigala property.
Cesario ceased, therefore, to consider
the subject with acrimony : it was only
when he thought his father's life had
fallen a sacrifice to this hardly-enforced
right, that he felt all his former passions
rekindle.
At first, Giovanni pressed on him the
occupation of this endeared villa; but
S16 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
Cesario could not forget that it was the
son of Paulo Cigala who would thus lend
him what had once been his own, and
he refused it with impetuosity ; the next
instant he softened his refusal by a look
that spoke volumes ; and by the pro-
mise of using the Marino as if it were
still his home.
Giovanni pardoned him this imperfec-
tion of friendship ; and serenely waiting
the effects of time and increased con-
fidence, forbore to hint to him what he
longed to urge — an equal participation
in each other's fortunes.
Giovanni could not resign his kindred's
right to the Marino ; nor would he aban-
don it to the possession of any one less
anxious than himself, to preserve it in its
original beauty ; but he abhorred the
thought of appropriating the liberal re-
turns of this estate to the purposes of his
own establishment : he therefore devoted
them exclusively to acts of charity.
Through the medium of the Redemp-
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN'. 217
tion Friars, the rents of the Marino were
employed in ransoming Christian slaves.
Many a hopeless captive, who had long
languished under the tyranny of Algerine
masters, was thus released from toil and
suffering, and restored to his home.
Cesario accidentally discovered this
merciful destination of wealth which was
once his own ; and loving Giovanni the
better for the discovery, he no longer
allowed himself to regret the loss of a
fortune which, instead of increasing the
luxuries of one individual, bestowed bless-
ings upon numbers.
Meanwhile, he continued to reside with
the good Syndic and his wife ; content
to live with the utmost simplicity, and
entering crowds only at the Palazzos
Doria and Rosso.
His former associate, Marco Doria,
had long since abandoned the falconer's
cottage ; and was again afloat upon the
idle currents of vanity and dissipation.
They met with the same cordiality as
VOL. I. L
218 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
formerly, though their companionsliip
was somewhat injured by Cesario's nobler
tie with Giovanni, and yet more, by a
new whim of the Iris-humoured Marco.
This absurd young man, as if in de-
fiance of his own capricious character,
had formally assumed the office of cices-
beo to a lady then newly married : by
this act he bound himself to servitude
without relaxation or without recom-
pense ; for in that early age it was
neither libertinism which sought, nor
infidelity that rewarded this irksome en-
gagement. It was simply the shadow of
what had once had form and substance
in the days of chivalry.
During the period of the crusades, we
read, that it was customary for each mar-
ried wearer of the Cross, ere he embarked
for the Holy Land, to leave his wife
under the charge of some trusty friend,
whose vigilant eye was to watch over the
honour and affections of the lady ; thus
preserving for the absent warrior the
THR KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 219
treasure of domestic happiness. We may
thence conclude that in process of time
this chivalric institution softened into one
less arduous ; and the friend who would
formerly have been called on to become
responsible for the virtue of the lady in-
trusted to his care, was only required to
watch over her outward demeanour in
public 01 private circles ; to animate her
innocent pleasures, and protect her from
neglect or insult.
At what time this harmless, nay kindly
appointment sunk into the odium it is
now said to deserve, it is impossible to
guess, and would be revolting to enquu'e :
suffice it, the cicesbei were originally
characters of the noblest class ; after-
wards, of the most amiable ; now, aJas,
too frequently of the basest.
The person to whom Marco Doria had
engaged himself was the Signora Calva,
a woman of honour, but of more spirit
than sense : well-inclined to enjoy all the
privileges which her situation might give
L 2
220 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
her over the time and attentions of an
amusing young man, and to laugh at the
unwillingness with which she foresaw he
would very soon render them.
Being the favourite cousin and com-
panion of Beatrice Brignoletti, her own
natural vivacity was often heightened into
mischief by her friend's wilder spirits ;
and Marco Doria's patience or constancy
was thus put to many a severe test.
The very act of accepting Marco as
her cicesbeo had been a scheme of mirtli
concerted between Signora Calva, her
bridegroom, and Beatrice. They anti-
cipated much entertainment from the
zeal with which he would begin his new
duties, and the loathing with which he
would eventually meet their perform-
ance : their triumph was to consist in
driving him to the desperate act of en-
treating for a release.
The affair had already reached its se-
cond stage of wearisomeness to Marco
Poria, when Cesario returned from sea ;
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 221
but whether Marco had conceived a sus-
picion of colhision amongst the parties,
and was excited to disappoint their good-
humoured malice, or whether he really
considered adherence to this engagement
as a point of honour, or whether he sim-
ply endeavoured to prove that he could
persevere when he chose to do so, is
doubtful; but it is certain that he did
persevere.
In vain Signora Calva flew from town
' --^i._.. A^^m rarnival to fair, from
hawkmg to anglmg, trom px^.^..-^
dancing ; in vain she varied her humour
from gay to grave, from amiable to
austere, from mild to vindictive : Marco
Doria kept to his post j and, ever at her
side, performed all the duties of a liege
cicesbeo, with apparent satisfaction.
The allied powers were nearly wearied
out by this unforeseen dissimulation; and
were busily plotting some ruse dc gicerre
by which to capture him at once, when
one of their members, a passive one in-
L 3
g^'2 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOttN.
deed, was suddenly detached from the
confederacy. — Cesario went on service.
Advice was brought to Genoa, that
a Barbary cruiser had made a descent
upon the coast of Tuscany during the
night, carried off several of the inha-
bitants, and was now^ proceeding with
her prey towards the Straits of St. Bo-
nifacio.
The horror of such events was never
diminished by their frequency; for as
every village, and solit^j^^ rv,«^ ,v.^ ^^ ^^^
i-^^a'&i me Mediterranean and the
Adriatic, had either suffered from the
fear or the reality of such visitations,
during the last twenty years ; they shud-
dered, with more than pity, when they
heard of those calamities befalling their
neighbours.
What indeed could exceed the horror,
of men being suddenly snatched from
the bosoms of their families ; or what is
worse, of seeing their wives, children, and
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 228
parents, plunged into the same misery
with themselves ?
Neither sex, age, character, nor con-
dition, was spared by these ocean robbers.
The great and the mean, the rich and the
poor, were alike torn without remorse
from their enjoyments and their ties j and
carried into captivity.
But a few years had elapsed, since their
audacious enterprises were on the point
of being crowned by the possession of
the supreme Pontiff himself ; and as th^s
terrible incident was fresh in every mind,
it rendered the images of the pirates as
impious as formidable.
No sooner did the rumour of their
present descent reach Cesario, than,
agitated by compassion for the poor Tus-
cans, excited by the hope of regaining
them, and thus finding glory in the ser-
vice of Humanity, he ran to the Prince
of Melfi ; and besought his interest with
the Seigniory, for permission to fcdlow
the pirates.
L 4
224 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
His earnestness, his former gallant
conduct, the urgency of the occasion,
and the strenuous recommendation of the
admiral, prevailed on the doge and his
counsellors. A galliot was then lying in
the harbour, just returned from a short
cruise, the captain of which was disabled
by illness. To the command of this ves-
sel, Cesario was immediately appointed;
and in less than four hours from the con-
firmation of the report, he was at sea.
The pressing nature of his enterprise
only allowed him to take a written fare-
well of Beatrice, and to leave a parting
message at Giovanni's door.
That valued friend was gone for a few
days to his house beyond Pietra Lava-
serra ; little imagining, that ere he
should return, Cesario would be again
seeking honour at the cannon's mouth,
on the eventful ocean.
It had been Giovanni's determination
to share all future perils with the man to
whom he had consecrated his friendship ;
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 225
what then was his mortification, to learn
by the arrival of a servant, that Cesario's
vessel had been long out of sight ere the
man left Genoa ; and that the galley he
chased, was commanded by the desperate
pirate Delli Rais !
Cesario, with all his bravery and talent,
was yet but imperfectly versed in the
subtler part of a profession, where skilful
manoeuvre so often baffles the hardiest
spirit. Delli Rais, educated by the for-
midable Dragut, was known to have im-
bibed, not only the daring character of
his master, but his keener genius for
stratagem. He knew, too, every inch of
coast from the mouth of the Nile to
the Pillars of Hercules.
With such an adversary, even Cesario's
courage (and it was that of a lion) would
be of no avail 5 unless assisted by the ex-
perience of practised seamen and officers.
Giovanni rationally concluded, that the
Prince of Melfi had foreseen and provided
for this J and he strove, therefore, to confine
L 5
226 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
his concern solely to the regret of not
sharing danger and honour with the friend
he loved.
- That regret was indeed deep and sin-
cere ; for his spirit panted for action ;
and his heart sunk at the prospect of a
long chasm in their daily intercour-se.
( 227 )
CHAPTER XII.
JVl USING over these things, during his
return from a charitable errand, Giovanni
«topped to observe the effect of a moon-
light upon the broken side of a ruined
chapel, which started from an Ilex wood
overhanging his path.
The silvery touches of that lovely light,
beautifully contrasted with the deep ver-
dure of the trees ; and the fresh night
air, just quivering their twinkling leaves,
seemed, as it moaned round the de-
serted edifice, to utter the dirge of de-
parted time.
Giovanni fixed his eyes upon the shat-
tered remains of a cross, in the open area
of the building : it was nearly overgrown
with wild vine. That emblem, so sacred in
L 6
228 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
his estimation, and so degraded, changed
his thoughts ; and ceasing to admire the
prospect of mountain, wood, and dell, he
thought only of restoring the temple of
the Saviour to its original order.
Though the ruin was not on his do-
main, he was tolerably certain that no
one would obstruct him in the execution
of so pious a work ; and delighting him-
self with the prospect of its completion,
Ive was proceeding, with his sword, to
cut away the foul weeds clasping the
cross, when the shriek of a woman made
him start forward, and look round for her
that utered it.
His astonishment was extreme, when
he beheld a young creature in the dress
of a novice, but without her veil, alone,
and running towards him with the air of
one distracted.
** O, save me ! sir," she cried ; " you
are a knight — protect me — hide me !" —
Misled by a badge of the order to
which Giovanni formerly belonged, and
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 229
which he still wore in pious memorial,
the lady almost threw herself into his
arms, striving to cover her face with his
mantle; Giovanni flung it round her, and
bore her into the chapel.
He then seated himself by her, upon
a fragment of stone ; and as the pale
moonbeam fell upon her, whitening the
panting neck and rounded cheek, from
which terror had banished colour ; as its
tremulous light glittered on the tears in
her eyes, he thought he had rarely seen
any thing so lovely.
His own mild eyes, full of tender
concern, and his usually composed com-
plexion, heightened into lustre by surprise,
were displayed to advantage by the same
soft light. The novice evidently beheld
them, and his superb figure, which the
want of his mantle fully discovered, with
wondering admiration ; for she gazed at
him in silence, unconscious that he ad-
dressed her.
" ^Vhat am I to protect you from.
S30 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
madam ?" he asked respectfully, remov-
ing his supporting arm when he saw her
recovering. — " Where may I conduct
you ? — by your dress ^' — He glanced at
her white garments and ebon crucifix.
The brightest and deepest blushes
then overspread the youthful face of the
novice; she turned away in some con-
fusion, faintly repeating, in a voice be-
tween weeping and smiling, " This dress
is a disguise 5 I am not a religious —
I have been mistaken for one, and am
pursued by the brethren of San Eugenio.
O sir, if they discover who I am
where, where will you hide me !'* —
More perplexed, and amazed than be-
fore, Giovanni's looks expressed extreme
disturbance. ** I can conceal you here
for a while, madam," he said : " I have a
sword, and will defend you, with tny
life, against every thing but the au-
thority of the church." And as he
spoke, he advanced to the entrance of
the chapel.
THE KNIGHT OP ST. JOHN, 231
A mingled confusion of laughter, hal-
loos, and expressions of alarm, was heard
from that quarter of the wood whence
the lady had issued ; and Giovanni dis-
tinctly heard a boy's voice calling, " Sig-
nora, Signora ! there is nothing to fear."
The sound was speedily followed by
the appearance of a motley groupe of
men and women, in religious habits,
whose laughing exclamations quickly
brought the fictitious novice from her
retreat.
A hurry of embraces, congratulations,
reproaches, and interrogations, then fol-
lowed, while Giovanni stood clasping his
useless sword with the air of a man
awaking from a dream. All he could
collect from the scene, w^as that one
party had attempted to impose upon the
other, and that the last had outwitted
the first.
" Do I leave you in the hands you
wish, madam?" asked Giovanni, taking
232 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN*
up his cloak which the lady had let fall,
and preparing to depart.
" O you must not leave me, my pro-
tector," she replied, ardently catching
his arm : " I have not thanked you yet. —
By what name must I address you?'*
" Surely it is Signor Cigala !" said one
of the company, coming forward, and
discovering, under the cowl of a monk,
the piquant countenance of Marco
Doria.
"Cigala! — the friend of Cesario !'*
repeated the lady with animation. —
" Ah Signor ! then you must not go."'
Giovanni looked at her while she
spoke ; and the moonlight now showed
that lately-pale face, sparkling with colour
and joy. He could not mistake that
rayonante complexion which his friend
had so often described : ** The Signora
Brignoletti !" he repeated, and respect-
fully kissed her extended hand.
Her spirits, the distant place in which
they met, and the childish trick which
13
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. Q33
had caused their meeting, convinced
Giovanni that Beatrice was yet ignorant
of her lover's departure from Genoa;
and at this thought he fixed his eyes on
her with a look of tender commiseration.
Beatrice was not very able in the
knowledge of countenance,^ and she mis-
took that expr*ission for one of pure
admiration. '* This is the man who fore-
swears the power of beauty," she said to
herself; and, from that instant, she forgot
he was also the friend of her lover.
The Signora Calva's request, that
Giovanni would return with them to
his casino, was seconded with much cor-
diality by ^larco Doria, and with more
earnestness by Beatrice. Uneasily anxious
to see her character closer, he yielded
immediate consent ; and the lively party
proceeded down the mountain.
During their walk homewards, and it
was not a short one, the mystery of their
disguises was explained to him : he
leanie^ that a trick had been devised
^34 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
between Signora Calva and Beatrice, by
which they hoped to seduce Marco Do-
ria from his duty to the former: — a
pretty page belonging to the latter was
dressed in the habit of a novice, and in-
structed in a tale of parental tyranny,
likely to enlist Marco's knight-errantry
on her side : the boy's^^fFeminate beauty
and well- taught flatteries, were expected
to work upon his susceptibility, or va-
nity 5 and as this pretended novice's
task was to get him to elope with her
from the pursuit of her relations, &c. it
was hoped that Marco would fall into
the snare, and thus leave the field to the
conquerors of his constancy. Beatrice,
in the character of a sister-novice, could
not refuse herself the imprudent amuse-
ment of witnessing Marco's delusion.
The scheme was admirably planned, they
thought; for Marco accompanied the
Signora Calva and her husband to their
country-house, unconscious that Beatrice
was concealed in it ; and that the tender
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. ^85
billet he received the next day, appoint-
ing an interview that night, was written
by her pen.
But unfortunately for the conspiring
ladies, Signor Calva, with true esprit de
corps, felt reluctant to cover one of his
own majestic sex with shame and ridi-
cule; so, counterplotting his wife and
her friend, he concerted with Marco the
merry revenge of allowing the two no-
virp<! K^ ^^p-i--, :« ^11 the pomp of their
vestal veils, to the appointed spot, and
then to rush on them in the character of
monks.
Tlie terror of public exposure and
spiritual censure, fully revenged Marco;
for the poor page actually fainted away
at the sight of such a crowd of ecclesi-
astics, (as Signor Calva had strengthened
his party by servants,) and Beatrice flew,
in terror, she knew not whither.
Some reproaches, but more lively sal-
lies, were mutually exchanged 5 after
which, the tie between Marco and the
£36 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN,
family of Signor Calva was amicably dis-
solved, and the former left free to follow
his own caprices.
Meanwhile many a courteous speech
and Euphrosyne glance from Beatrice
tried to soften the severity with which
Giovanni felt inclined to consider her
share in the transaction. He liked not
the levity of a temper so eager for
amusement; it seemed to him, that a
heart occupied hy '^no pi-wworfnl senti-
ment, and that too clouded by apprehen-
sion, should have no room for childish
mirth.
Ought any thing to delight, ought any
thing to be sought with avidity uncon-
nected with the object dearest in life?
Giovanni remembered the days of love
with himself, and answered no.
It was not that he doubted the since-
rity of Beatrice's attachment ; he quar-
relled only with its nature. 'Twas such
as might content a common mind, be-
cause to such it would fully reply ; but
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 237
iiow was it to satisfy such a heart as
Cesario's ?
Where was that exclusive, concentrated
ardour, that indifference to all, beyond
duties and honourable affections ? Where
was that deep tenderness, almost amount-
ing to melancholy ; that existence but in
the presence, or in the praise of its ob-
ject, which should have kept Beatrice
from leaving Genoa and Cesario, merely
to indulge a girlish caprice? In short,
where was that vital glow of perfect sym-
pathy, which would preseve their attach-
ment, after youth and beauty was gone ?
Giovanni often looked at his fair com-
panion, involuntarily looked at her, and
sighed, as these reflections passed through
his mind ; and at those times her bright-
ened eyes and complexion made his
heart smite him.
Why should his observation please her,
unless from his association with the
image of Cesario? — ** I judge women
like a monk !" he said to himself, ** and,
^38 THE KNIGHT OF ST.JOHP**
perhaps, like an enemy : that is unjust —
I will study her more closely 5" — and,
from that moment, he attached himself
to her side.
The Signora Calva received the mot-
ley groupe with just as much participa-
tion with their merriment, as sat well
upon a married woman : a collation of
fruits and ices refreshed them after their
adventures 5 and Giovanni had, then,
ample opportunity of seeing every indi-
vidual in their genuine character.
Mirth banished ceremony ; their plot
and counterplot were amply discussed, and
laughed over : they rallied each other on
tbeir several follies with as much point
as good-humour ; and a whimsical de-
bate, in which the whole company joined,
was ended only by a display of Signora
Brignoletti's peculiar talent.
The question agitated was, in what
pursuit the greatest proportion of human
happiness is to be found ?
One person named ambition, another
14
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 239
social pleasures, a tliird study, a fourth
the fine arts, &c. : when Beatrice was
asked, she gaily snatched up her lute,
and bending over it for a few seconds in
silence, burst into an extempore declara-
tion in favour of love.
The sportive glance with 'which she
first took the instrument, was succeeded
by a look of brief but intense thought ;
the next instant, a bright illumination of
intelligence and emotion spread over her
face, while, with the voice and air of in-
spiration, she chanted this momentary
rhapsody : —
O ! it is sweet, on one alone,
In waking dreams to muse away
The hours of night, the hours of day ;
And as the tide of time is flowing,
To see but one reflection glowing
On its clear glass !
What matters then, the moments gone.
Since others pass ?
Yes, through that stream, so clear, so deep.
In beauty €ver-brightening, rises
The form our soul enamoured priates ;
240 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
Each tender charm again repeating,
Still, still renewed, though ever fleeting,
Wave follows wave,
While trancing echoes o'er them sweep,
From Memory's cave.
Then shall we scale the rocks of power.
Or colder study's stormy height.
Or weave the flowerets, fair as slight,
Of pleasures vain and unabiding ? —
No — still where Time's full stream is gliding
Through Love's green bower,
With thrilling heart and tranced eye,
There let me live — I ask no more —
There let me die !
WTien Beatrice concluded, the bright-
est colours of the seducing passion she
sung, painted her cheek ; and an expres-
sion, at once intoxicating and embarrass-
ing, thrilled from her kindled eyes. Gio-
vanni turned away his from their scarcely-
encountered glance. There w as nothing
in her impromptu to find a tangible fault
with ; yet he liked not the subject, sung
with such enthusiasm by a woman.
Love, chaste, regulated love ; devoted
to one deserving object, is natural and
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 2il
honourable in that tender sex, which
Providence has destined to bless the
home of man : but it is as natural for
woman to blush at the avowal of the
sentiment, as to feel it ; and she who
can discourse on it with the least restraint,
and the greatest energy, is precisely sTie
with whom it is rarely but a gust of pas-
sion : — so true is it, that "love burns
the brightest in the purest breast."
Giovanni made no audible remark
upon the song of the fair Improvisatrice,
though all around him were clamorous
in its praise : he sat silent, disturbed and
meditative, with his eyes fixed on the
ground.
Beatrice saw that she had agitated
him ; how, she guessed not : — very dif-
ferent were the feelings she vainly at-
tributed to that spotless heart, from what
feally worked there.
After a long and uneasy reverie, Gio-
vanni rose, and said good night to the
company, leaving Beatrice still in igno-
VOL. I. M
242 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
ranee of Cesario's absence. He departed,
carrying with him a painful doubt of her
substantial worth. " The woman that
has not modesty," he thought, " is des-
titute of virtue's strongest out- work.'*
That she was charming, bewitching,
infatuating, he acknowledged ; but it was
witchery, she unconsciously exerted; it
was infatuation, she excited; it was some-
thing, which fled the glance of reason.
Levity of disposition, indiscretion of
conduct, and instability of taste, appeared
to him visible in all her words and ac-
tions. It was a character, innocent per-
haps, but not principled ; one that might
have been moulded to good, by judicious
restraint, and consistent example in child-
hood ; but which, left to the accidents of
rank, and her own humour, by feeble-
minded relatives, was fast verging to-
wards evil.
Giovanni thought it was possible to
save this almost-interesting young crea-
ture from the moral alteration that
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN'. ^243
threatened her ; and thus reconciled to
the sudden departure of Cesario, he re-
solved to devote the period of his absence
to the endeavour of rendering his mis-
tress more worthy of him.
Very different was the state of Bea-
trice's mind, at the same period: all
there was delighted confusion. A mul-
titude of indistinct images, as bright as
fleeting, appeared to her successively.
Now it was Giovanni, subdued by her
charms; struggling between love and
friendship; while she nobly preserved
her faith, and bestowed her hand on
Cesario: then it was the sam€ Giovanni,
driven to distraction by her rigour ; and,
either roving among savage solitudes, a
maniac for her sake, or dying in some
distant cell, a martyr to that love which
not even the gloom of a cloister could
extinguish.
Then the picture changed; and for a
moment she fancied Cesario forgotten;
and herself at the bridal altar with the
M 2
244 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
once-famed Knight of St. John, whom
every female eye must admire, and every
female heart covet!
Her heart beat quick at this imagina-
tion 5 and it was hard to say, whether its
pulsation was more increased by plea-
sure or by self-condemnation. But, ac^
customed to discard every unpleasing
thought as it arose, Beatrice shifted the
the picture and the feeling, hurrying
from the uncertain future to the agree^
able present.
Again and again she compared the ex-
terior of the two friends ; and, as she did
so, wondered that she had considered Ce-
sario's as the perfection of manly beauty.
It is true, his figure was agile and
finely -turned ; abounding in those svelte
and light movements, which display
grace and denote activity : it was such as
we imagine in the messenger of the gods.
But Giovanni might have passed for
one of the gods themselves. His were
the sublime proportions, and sublimef
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 245
grace of the matured Apollo: and if
Cesario's countenance, interested by the
incessant play of passions which appeared
in its clouds and sunshine, expressing
alternately the weakness, the struggles,
and the hard-earned victories of huma-
nity; Giovanni's, elevated by that divine
expression of serenity and greatness
which rose above every other, and pro-
claimed the immortal.
In short, Beatrice was struck by that
singular mixture of the powerful and the
peaceful, the mild and the commanding,
which distinguished Giovanni from all
his kind: and, perhaps, the proud thought
of troubling that superb calm of counte-
nance and of character, was the source
of an inclination, which, she afterwards
believed, sprung solely from admiration
of this noble superiority.
Much of vanity, more of roving ima-
gination, and still more of habitual self-
indulgence, had in less than three hours
turned the current of her desires into a
M S
2i6 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
new channel; and perceiving nothing
distinctly, because she would not look at
any thing steadily, she was now com-
mencing a career of dishonourable incon-
stancy.
In his road to Genoa the ensuing day,
Giovanni called at the house of Signor
Calva, to thank him for his hospitality of
the foregoing evening, and to acquaint
Signora Brignoletti of Cesario's cruize.
As he passed an orange-grove in the
garden, he saw her alone, collecting its
scattered blossoms: she dropt her fra-
grant spoils through haste to meet him.
Solicitude to please one, whose dignity
awed her, now tempered her excessive
vivacity; and Giovanni, after a short
dialogue, began to think her character
less volatile than her manner.
He sat down by her, under one of the
orange-trees, while asking her commands
for Genoa.
<* You may carry this flower from me
to your friend, if you will," she said.
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 54«7
blushing with pretty coquetiy, and ex-
pecting him to look, at least, a desire of
keeping it for himself.
But Giovanni, not liking her manner,
gravely put it by with his hand, answer-
ing, that he believed his friend was now
seeking a nobler reward on the ocean.
A start, an exclamation, almost a shriek
from Beatrice, whose conscience smote
her for the reveries of the past night,
made Giovanni's air change from auste-
rity to tenderness: he looked kindly on
her while he explained the nature of
Cesario*s enterprise ; and extolled, not
merely his bravery, but his humanity in
this voluntary cruise.
Beatrice wept with the impetuosity of
a child : at every pause in her gust of
grief, enumerating the dangers that me-
naced Cesario, and condemning herself
lor this foolish visit to Signora Calva,
since it had prevented her from receiving
his perhaps last farewell !
Giovanni comforted her by every ar-
M 4
'248 ' THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN"*
giiment in his power ; agreeably sur*
prised by her excess of feeling, and little
aware of its transitory nature.
He strove, at the same time, to impress
on her, as he always did on Cesario, that
the blameless accomplishments of their
wishes could only be effected by the ac-
quirement of that fame, and those distinc-
tions (if not fortune), which Cesario must
find in the path of danger ; or be deemed
both insolent and mercenary, when he
should sue for her hand.
" I fear," he said, " that you must
discipline your mind to endure a long
probation of anxiety and frequent sepa-
ration."
" Oh, 'tis what he suffers !" she rashly
exclaimed. " He loves me so much,
that I should be ungrateful, insensible,
not to weep as I am now doing !"
Giovanni averted his gentle eyes as
she spoke ; believing those broken sen-
tences proceeded from maiden bashful-
ness, unwilling to confess its own tender-
THE KNIGHT OP ST. JOHN. 249
iiess ; but, at a very distant period, he
recalled it as a proof that her's was a
love of gratitude, rather than of spon-
taneous preference ; and in doing so, he
made a second conclusion as erroneous
as the first.
When Signor Calva and his wife, on
joining Beatrice in the grove, heard that
Giovanni was going to Genoa for only a
single day, they pressed him with great
earnestness to return to their casino, in-
stead of to his own solitary house. Signor
Calva boasted his hawks and his wolf-
dogs ; and promised his guest all the
glory of a hazardous chase.
Giovanni considered for a moment j he
was not usually inclined to sudden inti-
macies; but as it was an object with him
to read Beatrice thoroughly, he thanked
Signor Calva, and accepted the invit-
ation.
That prompt acceptance was another
blow to the image of Cesario in the heart
of his unstable mistress 5 and her eyes
u 5
S50 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
sparkled with joy : those very eyes which,
but a. few moments before, had streamed
with tears !
In truth, for the last night and day,
and for some few that followed, Beatrice's
inclinations were a sort of chaos, that
would have puzzled the steadiest ob-
server to have guessed in what order it
would at last settle.
So many rapturous recollections and
pangs of remorse, so much of lingering
liking and fear of his despair, was at-
tached to the idea of Cesario ; and so
much of novelty, and excited vanity, and
ardour of pursuit, and personal admi-
ration, belonged to that of Giovanni,
that Beatrice herself was unable to decide
what she felt, or what she desired, or
what she meant to do.
This was the moment in which she
ought to have flown from the seductions
of opportunity ; and refused to her rising
vanity, or wandering inclination, the food
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 251
of daily intercourse with their object y
but, ever self-indulging, she staid at the
casino : and, once from shore, the tide
was free to carry her where it would.
M 6
( ^52 )
CHAPTER XIIL
During Giovanni's residence of a fort-
night in the same house with the Signora
Brignoletti, he became more sensible to
the witcheries as well as to the defi-
ciencies of her character ; and though,
in their frequent conversations, his pure-
ly-benevolent manner, and his earnest
admonitions, showed him unwarped by
any treacherous inclination, Beatrice
found enough to flatter her hopes in the
single circumstance of his remaining a
guest at the casino.
To one so spoiled as Beatrice was, by
every other person, there was something
piquant in his reproofs of her idleness,
or levity, or liberal display of talent ;
and having discovered that a look of pe-
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 253
aitence became her, she was never spar-
ing of them, nor indeed of promises of
amendment.
Giovanni allowed this ingenuous spirit
to be very charming ; but his better judg-
ment saw its worthlessness, as reform-
ation seldom followed confession.
Beatrice was not yet practised enough
for the artifice of overruling her ovm
faulty habits, and stifling her own fa-
vourite opinions till her point was gained:
she could only look to the soul, with
beautiful eyes all tears and brightness,
and ask again, and again, in a voice ten-
der as a child's, to hear the catalogue of
her errors, and wish she could be but
half as ^vise and good as her mentor.
Sometimes she broke forth in grateful
acknowledgments of Giovanni's kind
austerity, lamenting that Cesario blindly
indulged her follies ; and then she always
added, " but he loves me so much !"
Giovanni soon began to observe, that
she never added to this phrase any ex-
£54 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
pression implying an equal attachment on
her ^de.
Never dreaming, however, that he was
personally concerned in this, he yet felt
certain that his friend's hopes were
hollow, and that the bubble would sooner
or later burst in his hand.
This imagination was a distressing one ;
for Cesario's passion was, alas, too real ;
and his despair w^ould be extreme. But
Giovanni consoled himself by believing
that as succeeding events must unfold
Beatrice's unsteady character, Cesario
would, at last, be brought to consider the
disappointment as a blessing.
Some business having recalled Gio-
vanni to Genoa, he took leave of the
agreeable Signor Calva with many testi-
monies of good-will ; and, as Beatrice
professed her intention of being in Genoa
nearly as soon as himself, he promised
to present himself at the Palazzo Rosso.
Having reached the city, he was
mounting the steps of his own portico,
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. ^55
when he felt himself' caught in the arms
of some person behind. He turned
round, and met the beaming look of
Cesario. With what joy did he return
his cordial pressure !
** I have not been an hour on shore,"
exclaimed Cesario ; " and am just come
from reporting my success to the Sig-
niory."
Success was, indeed, painted on Ce-
sario's countenance : its animated glow
scarcely required the rapid narrative he
gave by snatches as he entered the
house with Giovanni.
He had overtaken the Barbary vessel,
boarded and captured her. The fight
was fierce ; and a Moorish sabre had
nearly severed his left arm from his body;
but a crowd of hapless women and child-
ren were praying to Heaven for his suc-
cess and safety, and Heaven had heard.
With his prize in tow, Cesario steered
for the Tuscan village which the pirates
had plundered. What transport, to re*
356 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
store its captured inhabitants to their
homes ! What a moment, to see wives
throwing themselves into the arms of
their husbands, children running to kiss
the feet of their venerable parents, whom
they had never expected to see more on
this side the grave!
Cesario painted the scene, not by
words, but by looks — by the profound
emotion with which he uttered these
few words : " We restored them all !"
Giovanni had known the same satisfac-
tion, and his memory completed the un-
finished picture.
When his friend's feelings were a little
quieter, he spoke of Beatrice. At that
name the heart of Cesario blazed forth
afresh. Eager questions, passionate apos-
trophes, expressions of alternate sur-
prise and delight, broke in repeatedly
upon Giovanni's account of his intro-
duction to her ; and, as Giovanni uni-
formly answered " Yes," to his throng-
ing questions of, « Is she not lovely ? is
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 257
she not charming ? is she not delightful ?
is she not all ingenuousness ?" Cesa-
rio never observed that his friend did
not follow up these affirmations by any
approving observations of his own.
It was enough for his rapid feelings to
know, that hi's friend and his mistress
were acquainted : after that, he fancied
all the rest.
Every thing now was bright in his on-
ward path : he was rapidly winning ho-
nour and station in society ; fortune must
follow : Beatrice loved him ; her mother
ceased to frown on him ; Giovanni was
his friend ; and his father's memory was
honourably perpetuated by his country !
" A little while, and I shall possess all
the happiness that is now but promised
me V* he said, in a transport of hope
and gratitude : " Oh ! Giovanni, how I
wish "he stopt. ** You^wish me a
mistress as fair and as kind as your own !
Is not that what you would have said ?"
asked his friend, smiling ; " but my heart
Q5S THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
»has not room for any thing besides my
friend."
" Beware !'' exclaimed Cesario; "Love
will have his revenge some day."
" I won't defy him, but I do not fear
him," was Giovanni's tranquil answer, as
they shook hands after a long discourse,
and parted in the porch of his vestibule.
Cesario chose the hour of matins, the
next day,' for his visit to the Palazzo
Rosso. At that hour, he knew the Mar-
chesa would be at her devotions.
The suddenness of his appearance, his
ardour, his wound, his fresh laurels, nay,
even the confusion of her own con-
science, gave a more touching character
to the Signora's reception than it would
naturally have had.
When he talked of Giovanni, she
listened with attention, and replied with
animation ; but when he would have
covered her fair hands \\ith kisses, some-
thing of self-condemnation, and rather
more of altered sensibility, gave her an
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. Q5Q
air of modest resistance, which Cesario
had hitherto ne^er allowed himself to
miss, but which, once there, transported
him to rapture.
He threw himself at her feet, pouring
out a torrent of wishes and entreaties.
It seemed to him, that he could no
longer live without permission to declare
to all the world that he lived but for her
alone. Deluded by his frantic passion,
he besought Beatrice to let him avow
their attachment to the Marchesa, and
beseech her to consent to their future
union, whenever the fortune of the war,
or the liberality of his country, should
reward his enterprises with the means of
honourable life.
Beatrice was too well acquainted with
her mother's sentiments, and too uncer-
tain of her own, to yield assent to this
proposal : not that she now dreaded the
consequence of a refusal for herself, but
she feared, that in Cesario's banishment
from the Palazzo Rosso, his friend would
^60 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
be included, and her yet half-formed pro-
jects upon Giovanni's affections be de-
stroyed at once.
Art is the offspring of fear and con-
scious unworthiness. Beatrice, without
foregone purpose, instantly assumed an
appearance of sympathy with her lover's
ardour, only to persuade him not to
risk, by a rash disclosure, the chance of
her mother's prohibition, and probable
removal of her from his reach.
She did not, it is true, advance many
good arguments against frankness of con-
duct ; but she said so many playful
things ; she hovered round him so like a
caressing breeze ; she looked in such a
glow of love and youth and earnestness,
that Cesario yielded his integrity to the
charm, and believed that he ought not
to ask or wish for more.
After this meeting, he rarely went to
the Palazzo Rosso unaccompanied by
Giovanni, whose silent observations upon
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 261
Beatrice were daily becoming less favour-
able to her.
Cesario was of a temper slow to im-
agine wrong from persons dear to him ;
and he, therefore, saw in Beatrice's an-
xiety to please Giovanni, merely the
conduct of one inclined to love every
thing beloved by the object of her prime
affection.
Rendered uncomfortable by her marked
attentions to himself (which had a subtle
something in them which distressed him,
he knew not w^hy), Giovanni mean-while
seized an opportunity, which just then
presented itself, of leaving Italy. This
opportunity was afforded by a letter from
the Chevalier de Fronsac's cousin, in-
viting Giovanni into Guienne, for the
purpose of renewing their attempts of as-
certaining the existence or death of their
separate relatives.
Giovanni hoped some light might be
struck out by personal communication j
6
262 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
and he trusted that during his absence,
if Beatrice's inconstancy were destined to
pierce his friend's heart, it might find an-
other hand than his to throw the dart
with.
Revolving how to leave some hint
of his doubts for Cesario to recal here-
after, when his own apprehensions might
require support from those of another,
he went with his friend to a supper at
Signor Calva's, the night before he was
to commence his journey to France.
Several other persons were added to
the family party, amongst whom were
the Marchesa Brignoletti and the Sig-
nora Beatrice.
Cards, conversation, and music filled
up the time. Beatrice did not assist at
these amusements ; she was gay but by
fits ; and Cesario's animated attention to
her alone, failed to drive away the cloud
of thought or melancholy, which dark-
ened her bright eyes.
He observed this with silent delight ;
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 263
for he flattered himself that it arose from
her apprehension of his being ordered
out to sea again, as a rumour in the
morning had suggested.
After supper, the younger part of the
company went to enjoy the cool night-
air, in one of those artificial gardens with
which the Genoese ornament the broad
and flat roofs of their houses.
Flowering shrubs formed slight divi^
sions between the different sets into
which their little society now broke.
Beatrice stood, leaning her blooming
cheek against the dark umbrage of some
cypress-trees, evidently absorbed by un-
pleasant thoughts, while she was uncon-
sciously tearing into fragments the flow-
ery band which confined her luxuriant
hair.
Strong expression gives elevation to
beauty ; and for once, Cesario saw that
face of almost infantine sportiveness
assume the severer charm of painful
thought.
264 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
After calling Giovanni's notice to her
interesting figure, he drew near ; whisper-
ing his own and his friend's admiration.
That whisper restored its wonted ani-
mation to the face of Beatrice : it was the
first time she had been told that Gio-
vanni did admire her beauty ; and her
pulse beat joyously at the idea. She
listened to her lover's raptures, as if she
fancied he spoke those of his friend also ;
and thus beguiling, and self-beguiled, she
bent forward to his discourse with an air
of such perfect satisfaction, that Gio-
vanni, who now and then glanced at
them from a distance, knew not what to
think of her Proteus-like manners.
Nearly persuaded that he did exact
too much consistency from youth, he
joined her and his friend. ** WTiy have
you not sung to-night ?" he asked with
an air of kind interest ; ** 1 can forgive
your little caprices, when they do not rob
us of a pleasure."
Beatrice gave him one of her most
THE KNIGMT OF ST. JOHN. ^65
brilliant smiles ; not the less brilliant,
because the eyes she darted round at
him sparkled through tears. " I was
out of spirits — thinking all sorts of dis-
mal fancies." She replied in her most
penetrating tone.
*« I will not chide you for that,'* re-
turned Giovanni, playfully. " I have
leclfured you often on a very opposite
tendency."
At that moment Cesario obeyed the
call of the Signora Calva ; and Beatrice
was left by the side of Giovanni : — he
was about to leave her, when she said
precipitately, ** So you go to-morrow !
1 have been thinking of it all this evening.
Ah, Signor Cigala, what shall I do with-
out my monitor ?"
The touching accent in which this was
said, and the agitated air by which it was
accompanied, made Giovanni start ; his
pulse beat not so temperately as before ;
but withdrawing his eyes from her glow
of beauty, he replied calmly, " I suspect,
VOL. I. N
266 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
there are no better monitors than our
own reflections, if we will but attend to
^|em.''
« No — no V* repeated Beatrice, ear-
nestly J " every thing right I have yet to
learn. You have shown me the impro-
priety of many things I do, which I never
dreamt were wrong ; and which no one
else has had the precious sincerity to tell
me were so. — O, if I could be always
near you, I should never act foolishly. —
How long shall you stay away? — Oh,
do not stay long." — She spoke with the
innocent passionateness of a child, ^^nd
she looked like an angel.
Giovanni had to remind himself that
she was neither a child nor an angel;
and that as an engaged woman, having
decorums and delicacies to observe, she
was strangely indiscreet. Yet this anxiety
tor his return might indeed arise from a
wish to become more reasonable y and as
the friend of Cesario, she might, with per-
fect artlessness, believe herself privileged
THE KNIGHT OF gT. JOHN. ^67
to speak to him with lively regard. He
glanced anxiously on her, as he replied,
** I shall stay just long enough, I sup-
pose, to allow Adimari time to undo all
my work. When he will tell you, that
even your greatest faults are charms in
his eyes, there can be no hope that
my monkish admonitions will be either
regarded or remembered."
Beatrice started, and trembled wdth
the agitation of sudden hope. To her
distempered fancy, those serious words
seemed the dictates of jealous love. She
forgot all reserve in that fancy; and
solely intent upon the object of unde-
ceiving him, if he could doubt her pre-
ference for him, she rashly exclaimed,
" I am tired of admiration that I know
I don't deserve ; and I shall think of no-
thing but your admonitions."
Giovanni's deep disorder made her in-
stantly sensible of her indiscretion, and
his sentiments of it ; and she blushed till
her very temples throbbed visibly.
N 2
268 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
Unable to raise her eyes, from which
tears now burst, she added, " You will
never see me gay and thoughtless again. —
I have mistaken gratitude, for I know
not what ! — I have entangled myself in
a net of trouble and folly ; and, I must
abide the consequence — misery !''
Giovanni, in extreme confusion, mut-
tered something about always wishing
her happiness and the consciousness of
deserving it ; and hastily left her side.
He went, purposely, into the middle
of a little circle, where Signer Calva was
singing to his wife's lute ; and appearing
to listen, he stood, in reality, thinking
over his strange conversation with Bea-
trice.
In her last speech, it is true, she had
not mentioned Cesario, but the impres-
sion on Giovanni's mind, was that she
alluded to him. "This net of trouble
and folly ;" what could it mean, beside
her engagement with him ? " This misery
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. QG9
that was to be the consequence ;" what
was it, unless the bitterness of marrying
a man, she either ceased to love, or had
encouraged formerly from mingled gra-
titude and childish levity ?
Giovanni had not a spark of vanity,
but he was not mentally blind ; and, un-
less he had been so, it would have been
impossible for him to have put together
her words, and looks, and tones of voice,
without observing, that they made up a
most startling whole of flattery to him-
self.
Whether coquetry, or liking, was the
source of this subtle wooing, it was
equally pernicious to him, and injurious
to Cesario j and he believed it his duty
to speak more explicitly of her now
to his friend, than he had intended to do
while fluctuating between suspicion of
her fickleness and reliance upon her
candour.
Giovanni was to quit Genoa the ne^t
day J that night, therefore, was his only
N 3
THO THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
opportunity : he must imbitter its sacred
farewell, by urging doubts that must
shock, perhaps irritate Cesario: that
night, he must begin to put Cesario's
friendship to the test by opposing it to
his love : that night, he must leave a
sting in the heart dearest to him, either
by troubling Cesario's affection for him-
self, or his devotedness to Beatrice !
The necessity was imperious 5 and Gio-
vanni, with a firm though grieved spirit,
determined upon the act.
He now joined the party of gentlemen
who, with customary gallantry, preceded
the March esa's carriage, with their torch-
bearers, to the Palazzo Rosso ; then se-
parating from them, Giovanni accom-
panied Cesario home.
On reaching the Sjmdic's, they sat
down together in the single but large
window of Cesario's apartment; there
they conversed with " unlocked breasts."
^he window was open ; but it looked
only upon an extensive orchard, where
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. ^271
every thing was so still, that even the
ripe fig was heard as it fell from the
loaded boughs upon the soft turf below :
they were therefore fearless of listeners.
They talked of Giovanni's intended
journey ; and, of course, of its purpose.
Giovanni lamented his sister's uncertain
fate, and early imprudence, with unusual
vehemence ; striving, while he described
the distress a clandestine marriage had
caused in his family, to guard Cesario
against the temptation of producing equal
confusion in that of the Marchesa.
" And if you are made certain that
your sister is no more; or, if none of
your endeavours can discover her abso-
lute fate ; — what will you do ?"
" Return hither, and live a solitary
life ; but as happy a one, as freedom and
friendship can make it."
" Good Heaven ! and you determine
not to marry ?" exclaimed Cesario.
" I make no such determination :"
replied his friend, smiling ; «< but I have
N 4
:272 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN,
no wish to marry ^ and I think it is an
event very unlikely to happen/*
" You think you shall not find a woman
capable of making you happy?" asked
Cesario.
" I do indeed."
" O, that I could find you another
Beatrice !"
Giovanni only smiled, and shook his
head.
Cesario considered him with surprise.
" What ! would not such love, and such
beauty, as hers, content you ?"
" I am, in truth, not so soon satisfied
as you are," said Giovanni, with appre-
hensive kindness.
Again Cesario was a moment silent
with surprise. " What is it that does not
satisfy you in Beatrice ? her affection for
me ? or her character ?"
*' Her character, principally."
** Good Heaven !" again repeated Ce^
sario ; ** this is extraordinary ! and what
are your objections to her ?"
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. ^3
" Am I to speak truth and reason to
a lover, and of the woman he loves ?*'
asked Giovanni indulgently. " No, no,
my dear Cesario, I doubt you would not
suffer it."
" By our friendship, I demand it !''
exclaimed Cesario, warming into ear-
nestness and a little indignation. — "\Vhat
can you object to in Beatrice ?"
" Dare I tell you? — her incessant
waste of time : the more pernicious fault,
because she commits it so amiably, and
so charmingly, that she might soon se-
duce the man that loved her into similar
habits."
Cesario could not easily comprehend
the nature of this accusation ; and he
urged a more distinct explanation of it.
Giovanni then gently, but firmly,
showed him how entirely the days of
Beatrice were wasted in mere amuse-
ments, without reference to a single ob-
ject, either beneficial to herself, or to
others. Cesario reluctantly confessed
N 5
^74 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
this, but added, ** she is so young." — -
« Well, then, I would not marry one so
very young," replied Giovanni, some-
what playfully.
Cesario pressed him further ; and Gio-
vanni was obliged to confess, that the
unceasing brilliancy of Beatrice's spirits
frightened him : he could never convince
himself that such a constant glow of
hilarity could be united with depth of
feeling. — Then her caprice in dress, and
favourites, and pleasures, made him fear,
she might not be very steady in more
serious things.
In short, it was instability of charac-
ter which appeared to him the secret of
all her fascination and all her faults.
Cesario's rising resentment was quelled
by his friend's liberal confession of Bea-
trice's witchery ; he therefore answered
his different objections with less heat than
Giovanni had prepared himself to expect*
Cesario admitted her agreeable caprice
in trifles, her thoughtless squandering of
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. §75
time, her buoyant resistance against every
sorrow 5 but he attributed these to a
different source from that on which Gio-
vanni charged them.
In her lover's opinion, her caprices
were, singly, pretty affectations assumed
to amuse others ; her waste of time, the
effect of innocence and inexperience,
which had only to learn the severer du-
ties of life, to practise them with ear-
nestness ; her cloudless gaiety, the wish
of diffusing happiness, joined to that
vernal spirit of hope, which is woman's
best attribute.
" It may be so, my dear Cesario," said
Giovanni, stifling a sigh ; ** and I should
rejoice to read my recantation to you j —
when she is your wife."
** And will that answer all these
doubts ?" asked Cesario, thrilling at the
idea.
" Certainly," returned his friend ;
" time will then have proved her con-
stancy J and, with her constancy, proved
N 6
276 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
her depth of feeling ; and, where there
is deep feeling in an innocent breast,
there is a principle that will redeem lo&t
time, and repair error."
Cesario embraced him : " There spoke
my kind Giovanni again ; I scarcely
knew his voice, when it uttered such
harsh sentiments.'*
Cesario's eyes were moistened with
tenderness ; Giovanni's were full of con-
cern, and even greater tenderness.
" A friend's hardest office is some-
times that of speaking truth :" he said,
grasping Cesario's agitated hand j ** and
you may believe, I perform it unwil-
lingly. But ought not one friend to
warn another of a probable danger j
ought he not to show him, how to avoid
misery, and secure peace ? I am suspi-
cious of Beatrice's steadiness ; you are
not ; and if she were to fail you, and the
unforeseen shock deprive you of reason,
what would become of me, when I should
THE KNIGHT OP ST. JOHHN. TJl
remember that my warning might, at
least, have prepared "
'' Kill me not now with this horrid
image 1" interrupted Cesario, starting
from him, yet not in anger. *« O Gio-
vanni, one miserable event has mixed
poison with this noble heart's stream ;
which else had flowed all pure and
healthy. You have been deceived ; and
you suspect all the sex ! Is this just —
is this reasonable ?"
Giovanni could have said, he did not
suspect all the sex ; that there were
some he valued highly ; and one, (his
hapless sister,) whom he could still love
most fondly ; but he forbore to press
further upon the feelings of Cesario 5
and, suffocating a sigh, he replied, ** I
may be wrong ; I hope, and wish I may.
Yet let me entreat you, for the dignity
of your nature, for the sake of your
future security in an indissoluble engage-
ment, do a little violence to this honour-
able romance of love j and imagine the
^78 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
jpossibility of Beatrice being less than
perfect. Study her closer; watch her
conduct to others ; see if she always
satisfies you. Reflect upon the many
emotions in which you may find that she
does not sympathise "svith any of your
strong sensibilities, unconnected with
herself: then go back to your own heart,
and ask it, if such a companion, in weal
and woe, in youth and age, for time and
for eternity, would leave it nothing to
desire."
Giovanni stopped. Cesario did not
reply ; his heart was full ; and his eyes
were on the point of overflowing. He
saw the spire of San Siro at a distance ;
and that object reminded him with what
profound emotion he had led Beatrice to
his father's monument there ; and what
a chill struck to his soul, when he saw
her cheek tearless.
He was silent a long, long time : how
many racking ideas were then torturing
him ! At length throwing himself into
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 279
a seat, he exclaimed in a voice of tender
reproach, " Giovanni, what friendship
is this ?" and he concealed his face.
** Judge what friendship,'* cried Gio-
vanni in as penetrating a tone, " when it
gives me strength to risk even the loss
of that affection I had such a conflict
to gain !"
Both were again silent ; and perhaps
both shed tears. Cesario first roused
himself ; and took Giovanni's hand : he
pressed it affectionately. *' You were
bom to subdue me — and I yield wil-
lingly to our stars. But urge not your
power too far, my Giovanni ; force me
not to see, what I would rather not^ee —
what I should never have looked at,
had you not directed my eyes that way.
'Tis true, Beatrice w^ants general sen-
sibility ; but how lively and fervent is
her attachment to me ! Well, then, she
can feel strongly. Perhaps that sensibi-
lity, hitherto unexercised, will strengthen
and extend its sphere with new habits of
^80 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
reflection. She that can love disinter-
estedly, is surely capable of other ge-
nerous affections ?"
" Say steadily, my Cesario," said
Giovanni.
" And has she not been steady ?"
enquired the astonished lover. " Five
months since, this precious ring pledged
her heart to mine ; that heart, sought by
all the brave and noble throughout
Italy."
«< I will not pursue this painful sub-
ject," said Giovanni, purposely avoiding
a direct answer to his friend's question.
<* If I have already grieved you deeply
by my over-anxious friendship, place
that offence among ** the godly sins :"
doubt my judgment, suspect my preju-
dice, blame my intemperate zeal; do
any thing but think me wilfully un*
kind."
" But what would you wish Beatrice
to do, that she does not do, to testify her
purpose to be mine," enquired the rest"
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 281
less Cesario. ** You know that I would
scorn to enter the Brignoletti family by
a clandestine path. I never urge her,
therefore, and she cannot offer, to aban-
don her home for me. In two years,
her mother's legal power over her ex-
pires J she may then give her hand and
fortune, to whom she will. If I have
not ronqnprpfl snmpthing like fortune
before that period, she will bestow hpr.
self upon a poor fellow, worth nothing
better than laurels ; and will let him
show the world, by a life of Roman sim-
plicity in his own person, that her wealth
did not tempt him. Can she hasten that
period ? Does she encourage other
lovers? Did she not, from our first
acquaintance, evince the most marked
aversion to Count Cagliari ? You cannot
therefore think her a cocquet ?"
" I do not," replied Giovanni gently.
** I beheve her sincere ; but I think her
uncertain : and I have fancied her in-
clination for you less animated than you
28S THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
described it formerly.'* Cesario was on
the point of vehemently rebutting this
assertion, when some disagreeable recol-
lections crossed him. He remembered,
that she had seldom found opportunities
of conversing with him alone of late 5
and that once or twice, when he had
gathered a bouquet for her, she had care-
lessly left it on a garden Geat, or eu£Pcrcd
it fo fall from her breast unheeded.
There was a time, when she had preserv-
ed even the fragment of a flower, simply
touched by him ! He turned pale, and
cast down his eyes.
Giovanni read the disturbance of his
mind in his countenance ; and assured^
that his distressing task was fulfilled,
sought to end the conversation. But
Cesario either did not hear, or would
not answer what he said on less interest-
ing things ; he remained looking gloomily
on the ground, evidently revolving some
newly conceived thought. Abruptly
raising his head, he said in a determined
voice —
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 283
** 1 'will be satisfied, and you shall be
convinced. I will absent myself from
the Palazzo Rosso ; and from every
place, where there is a chance of meet-
ing her ; you shall see, that her love will
break through common forms to team
the cause of this. Oh yes ! her fond
heart will rather afflict itself with the
idea of some accident having befallen
me, than suspect me of change.*'
The gloom of Cesario's countenance
melted away as he spoke, and Giovanni
saw that reason was indeed no match for
passion. " If time and trial should
prove her all I wish her, to prove,*' he
said, " will you pardon me for raising
these painful doubts ? but, Cesario, could
you see into my heart '*
" I should see all that earth has of
goodness, kindness, and unheard of
friendship !" interrupted Cesario, open-
ing his arms to him, with his generous
soul in his eyes.
Giovanni pressed him strongly against
284 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
his breast, for a moment, with a brother's
emotion ; then releasing him, with a
sigh, that would not be repressed, bade
him farewell.
I
( 2&5 )
CHAPTER XIV.
What were the meditations and occu-
pations of Giovanni during his journey ?
Far from entertaining a feeling in
unison with those of the light-minded
Beatrice, he was solely intent upoh the
best interests of his friend.
This journey had a two-fold object :
one was to visit the family of De Fron-
sac •, the other, to serve Cesario.
Some years back, the late Signor Adi-
mari had advanced a large sum of money
to a young adventurer, called Lanza,
who was going to try his fortune in the
newly-discovered countries beyond the
Atlantic.
Several vicissitudes had prevented this
person from repaying the important loan,
286 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
while he was abroad : but on returning
to Europe, (his own moderate fortune
augmented by the unexpected legacy
of a rich partner's property,) during
his voyage homeward he had spoken
openly of his debt, and expressed his
intention of gratefully repaying it.
Lanza unfortunately died on his pas-
sage, and his wealth went into the hands
of a distant relation. But, as Signor
Michaeli, his heir, was a man of respect-
able <iharacter, though no bond had
ever been taken by the elder Adimari,
it was possible that Michaeli might be
induced to discharge the debt.
Accident having thrown Giovanni into
the society of a gentleman who had come
passenger in the same vessel with Lanza,
he learned these circumstances, together
with the name and residence of Signor
Michaeli ; and it immediately struck
him, that this gentleman's testimony,
with that of one or two others (not dif-
ficult to find out), would oblige Michaeli
JZ
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 28?
to admit that such a sum of money was
due to the heir of Signor Adimari,
and consequently lead him to do an act
of justice. The law, indeed, could not
extort it, but honour and generosity have
their own code.
Signor Michaeli was now at the head
of a mercantile concern at Marseilles t
thither Giovanni meant to seek him,
concealing the circumstance from his
friend, lest he should either excite ex-
pectations which might not be realised,
or be stayed by his scrupulous delicacy.
An invitation from the Marquis de
Blanchefort, happily arriving at that pe-
riod, afforded Giovanni a pretext for a
journey into France; yet hopeless of hear-
ing any thing new of his sister, he first
directed his steps to Marseilles.
On reaching that city, Giovanni found,
in Signor Michaeli, a man of habitual
caution and extreme prudence ; and, for
a while, the minuteness of the latter's
investigation, his numerous doubts, his
S88 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN'.
cool balancing between what was likely,
and what merely possible, made him
abandon all hope of success ; but the
event proved that Signor Michaeli scru-
tanised but to attain conviction; and
that, once satisfied of his kinsman's obli^
gation to Signor Adimari, he was ready
to repay the whole charge. " My re-
lative's affairs are not settled," he said :
*' I know not yet the extent of those
claims upon his property which legal
forms can compel us to satisfy : they of
course would come in first 5 but as
soon as I am able to balance the debts
and the property, Signor Cigala shall
hear from me. I do not doubt, how-
ever, that there will be enough and to
spare. Your friend, in that case, may
depend upon principal and interest."
Giovanni disclaimed the latter in his
friend's name. " It is his right," returned
Michaeli calmly, '' no gift : 'tis in the
course of business ; and there can be no
obligation in the affair."
II
THE KNIGHT OF ST, JOHN. 289
Michaeli then took down the names of
the persons to whom his kinsman had
spoken of his intention to repay Signor
Adimari ; and, expressing an expectation
of finding some memorandum of the
business amongst the papers of the de-
ceased, he bade his visitor good morn-
ing.
Animated by this prospect of recover^
ing what was now of such importance
to Cesario, Giovanni " went on his way
rejoicing ;" for he no longer dreaded, as
formerly, repulse for every kindness ;
and though he hoped no satisfaction to
himself from his visit to Sauveterre, he
felt that, in making it, he should have
completed his duty to his imprudent
-ister.
Something like melancholy, however,
did await him at Sauveterre. The Mar-
quis de Blanchefort (his brother-in-law's
successor) had found out a person who
was at Ostia in the year 1564, and who
perfectly remembered being casually on
VOL. I, o
290 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
board a vessel in the harbour, when a
French gentleman of the nameof DeFron-
sac was settling with the captain for a
passage to Venice for himself and family.
This person knew that the vessel
foundered at sea, shortly afterwards ; so
that it was now almost certain that
De Fronsac and his hapless wife had
perished in her.
Giovanni did not hear this dismal
confirmation of his worst imaginations
without sorrow ; indeed, he paid a heavy
tribute of tears, in secret, to the memory
of this unfortunate sister.
There is something more than com-
monly sad in death, when it comes un-
expectedly, and arrests the young on the
very threshold of life ! When Madame
De Fronsac perished by this most miser-
able of deaths, she could hardly have
reached her sixteenth year. So young,
so beautiful, so amiable as she promised
to be, Giovanni could have mourned
long and deeply, had he not drawn ar-
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. !J9i
guments for resignation from the details
of her husband's character, as communi-
cated to him by the Marquis de Blanche-
fort.
Handsome, engaging, skilled in paint-
ing and music, and highly susceptible of
the charms of beauty, De Fronsac was
unhappily but too much adapted to
dazzle the imagination, if not win the
affections of an inexperienced girl : but
though free from turbulent passions or
degrading views, he was not of a cha-
racter to increase domestic happiness.
A restless disposition, which made in-
cessant change of place necessary to his
very existence, disjointed the comforts
of every individual connected with him,
and by degrees wearied out their regard.
Thus, in despite of his relations' re-
monstrances and friends' admonitions,
he persisted to waste life in travelling,
without purpose or benefit, insensible to
the claims of a numerous tenantry, and
o 2
29!^ THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN*
carrying into responsible manhood the
habits of unimportant youth.
During one of his wandering excur-
sions in the neighbourhood of Monaco,
he saw the Signora Cigala at a convent, of
which an aunt of his was Superior. He
had never been in the custom of foresee-
ing consequences, or, in fact, of caring
for them. He found she was going to
marry, against her will, a person no-
toriously disagreeable ; and he knew that
if she married any other, her father
would disclaim her : but inclination was
uncontrollable with De Fronsac ; and he
played so ably upon the two passions of
hope and fear, in the artless breast of
fourteen, that he persuaded her to elope
with him.
The imprudent couple received the
nuptial benediction from a mercenary
priest, not over curious as to the pro-
priety of their union ; after which
De Fronsac hastened, with a lover's
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 293
pride, to display his fair bride to his
mother and kindred.
** I saw your sister at that time," said
the Marquis de Blanchefort (as walking
in the garden he gave Giovanni this rela-
tion); "and I have never forgotten her —
I shall never forget her! Not one of these
flowers about us is half so lovely ! she was
so delicate, so fair, so young ! — the first
tender bloom of childhood was still on
her cheek. How little did I think that
beautiful form was destined to feed "
De Blanchefort stopped, and apolo-
gised for his indiscretion, when he saw
the sudden paleness of Giovanni: the
latter bowed his head, smiled kindly, but
spoke not : a shudder passed over him —
a momentary struggle was visible in all
his features — it was but momentary —
he recovered himself; and the Marquis
then spoke of other things.
After this conversation, when Gio-
vanni could think of his sister's fate with
steadiness, he scarcely wished her again
o 3
^94 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
in life : for, tied to a man of De Fronsac's
imsettled temper, she must either have
grown into imhappiness with him, by
vainly endeavouring to exalt his existence
into usefulness, or her own character
must have sunk to the same worthless
habits of self-indulgence which distin-
guished his.
Thus, Giovanni still adhered to his
original conviction, that<7// is for the best ;
and that if we wish to think so, we shall
find that truth made manifest, even in
this world.
The subject on which the Marquis
de Blanchefort wished for advice was
about a change of property which he
wished to make, but would not do, be-
fore he had asked the opinion of Ma-
dame de Fronsac's brother. It was
possible that Madame de Fronsac had
borne a child (her pregnancy having
been mentioned in one of the Chevalier's
letters) : it was barely possible, there-
fore, that this child might not have been
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. '295
the companion of their voyage, and
might, at a future day, appear to claim
his estates. The Marquis, therefore,
would not, without the sanction of that
child's maternal uncle, stir a step in the
business proposed.
Giovanni speedily quieted his respect-
able scruples, promising to take all re-
sponsibility upon himself. After this
he paid a visit to the old Madame de
Fronsac, now dedicated to heaven in a
convent of Ursalines ; and, having thus
completed his business in France, he
turned his face once more towards Italy.
o 4
( 296 )
CHAPTER XV.
A few days subsequent to his depart-
ure from Sauveterre, having secured
himself a night's shelter in an abbey on
the confines of the province, Giovanni
rambled out alone, to enjoy the stillness
and freshness of evening.
Where increase of population has
since converted the wilds of nature into
meadows and cornfields, there spread
then, deep forests and lonely morasses ;
and the towns which now glitter on the
verdant shores of the Aveiron were then
but scattered and distant hamlets.
It was the season of the vintage : and
as Giovanni took his contemplative way,
occasionally through more frequented
paths than those of the tangled woodsj
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 297
he met parties of country people return-
ing liome to the neighbouring village.
Their hats, garlanded with vine-branches,
and their baskets teeming with the grapes
themselves, gave a sort of Arcadian
grace to their figures.
Giovanni loitered at times to return
a courteous answer to their frank offers
of fruit ; and to admire the sparkling
looks and animated movements of the
girls, as they went on, coquetting and
carolling with their s\yeethearts.
The setting-sun played on many a
crimson cheek, w^hich its hot ray em-
browTied with richer beauty ; and many
a bright dark eye, as it passed, darted
a roguish glance at the handsome
stranger.
The joyous groupes, now advancing
towards him, now disappearing among
the shaded cross-roads, gave life and in-
terest to the charms of inanimate nature.
Birds warbling their hymn of gladness
from each surrounding copse, (where
o 5
298 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
every leaf sparkled with rain-drops
just scattered from a passing cloud ;) the
delightful smell of mingled fruits and
blossoms and wild flowers, rising like
the earth's incense to her Creator ; the
sight of that beauteous earth, and those
splendid heavens, were to Giovanni's
heart so many calls to prayer and praise ;
and with devotional rapture he stood in
that august temple, silently worshipping
the 07ie Great Cause.
His secret transport over, with feelings
softened, not changed, he turned from
the public path, and, striking down a
wooded declivity, entered a savage dell
darkened by old chesnut-trees, and echo-
ing to the rush of a river.
The brilliancy of sun-set brightening
even this dismal solitude gave a charm
to that deep mass of umbrage by which
it was almost choked up ; and, illumi-
nating the river for an instant, as it
appeared through a chasm in its steep
banks, discovered the cause of that sullen
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 299
din, which sounded in the ear of inspi-
ration, like the accents of its troubled
deity.
Giovanni made his way leisurely
through the rank bushes to the margin
of the water ; and, as he emerged, came
suddenly upon a man sitting there alone.
The man stirred not, for he heard not:
his head was supported by both hands,
resting on his knees, and his eyes were
fixed upon the swift tide. Giovanni
paused to observe whether he was in
distress, or might be dangerous.
He saw a figure scarcely human,
scarcely proportioned ; a countenance
livid, yet swollen ; features, where dis-
ease, and deformity, and weariness of life
were mixed with expressions of the most
affecting and the most revolting kind.
In the pale, deep-sunken eye was
thirst of vengeance, hatred, and fierce
impatience, mixed with grief, and tender-
ness, and the sad consciousness of power-
less will. Now and then the poor wretch
o 6
300 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
muttered to himself, accompanying his
mutterings by some violent gesture of
the hands or head ; but still he moved
not away; and Giovanni fancied that
amidst low threatenings and curses, he
could distinguish lamentation and prayer.
He drew near then. His steps brush-
ing the long damp grass, made the man
start. At sight of one beside him,
lie rose, and would have fled ; but Gio-
vanni gently seized his coarse garment,
and bade him stay.
** You touch me! — what! — I may be
touched, then !" exclaimed the maniac,
or miserable, w^ith a laugh which froze
Giovanni's blood, and made him loose
his hold.
Thus released, the man broke from
him ; and running fast, but feebly, gained
a broken ascent at a short distance : the
next moment he vanished, as it were,
into the ground.
Giovanni stood to shake off the su-
perstitious seizure of an instant ; then,
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 301
ashamed of his folly, hastened after the
human spectre.
The spot where it seemed to vanish
was only one of those natural grottoes
which are often found in the sides of
hills, and are as often turned into habita-
tions by shepherds and night- wanderers :
some wild cherry-bushes masked, without
securing, the wade entrance. Stooping
under its rocky porch, Giovanni found
himself in a mere mountain hollow, con-
taining no better useful faraiture than
a bed of heath, and no other inhabitant
than the creature he had followed.
At the extremity, however, the chalky
side of the hollow was scooped into a
sort of altar, on which stood a wooden
crucifix rudely carved : a circle of some
prickly briar surmounted it.
This faithful imitation of the crown
of thorns, and the feelings it indicated,
redeemed, in Giovanni's estimation, the
gaudy heap of coloured glass and spars
and peacock feathers which furnished a
302 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
garniture for this humble shrine : he saw
in the latter only that childish love of
o-litter which is common to all ignorant
persons ; while in the former he read the
sentiment of a devout spirit. The presence
of the sacred symbol guaranteed his
personal safety ; and at the same time
reminded him that even the miserable
object by his side, was his brother in
faith. Silently crossing himself, he ap-
proached the forester.
" What do you want here ?*' asked the
latter, in a sullen tone, averting eyes
inflamed with weeping.
" A shelter — rest for a while, if you
will give them me," returned Giovanni,
hoping to detain the miserable, by this
demand on his hospitality.
" Take them, then," answered the
man, going out of the grotto. He then
seated himself at a distance, in his former
attitude of stern wretchedness.
Giovanni again followed. Without
approaching too close, and, regarding
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 303
him kindly, he said, " Something affects
you, my poor friend ; may a stranger
ofter you help ?"
The man neither stirred nor answered.
Giovanni repeated his questions in a
soothing voice, adding some expressions
still more soothing. The solitary then
raised his head, looked wildly, piteously,
as if discrediting the sense that would
have persuaded him he heard the voice
of benevolence : then exclaiming, *< Au-
guste 1" burst into a terrifying passion of
tears,
Giovanni now saw grief in its stormiest
character ; for it was grief, evidently
combined with rage and impotent desire
of vengeance. The unhappy man dashed
himself against the ground, tearing up
the grass as he lay there, struggling be-
tween cries and imprecations.
_" Alas, poor fellow 1" said Giovanni,
drawing close to him, as he saw his vio-
lence exhausting him ; *' you are, doubt-
less, in extreme sorrow ; and it seems
304< THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
that you have no one to comfort you :
where is your home ? — let me lead you
to it/'
** That is my home," replied the soli-
tary, pointing to the mountain-hollow.
" And what are you, then ?"
" A Cahet." The man pronounced
that ignominious name with a mixture
of shame and defiance.
Giovanni was far beyond the character
of the times he lived in ; and he shrunk
not from a term which stigmatised the
unhappy wretch before him as one of an
accursed and avoided race.
" What, then ?" he said ; " you are a
man — all men are brethren : you seem
a Christian — Christians are more than
brethren. Come, then ; tell me your
distresses freely, and let me see if I can
relieve you."'
O spark of the Divine essence, soul
of man ! prime source of grace and
beauty ! how didst thou triumph at this
moment over all that disease has of
13
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 305
squalid, and deformity, of revolting! Tiie
Cahet's livid and gloomy face shone with
light ; tears (no longer withering tears)
poured in abundance down his cheeks :
he ran, he sprang, he cast himself at the
feet of Giovanni ; he seized his garments,
rather devouring than kissing them, as
he cried in broken accents, >** O, do I
indeed hear words of kindness again !"
Giovanni raised him ; and, regarding
him with an expression of the most bene-
volent pity, he said, ** Let us re-enter
your cave. No one will disturb us there
— and you shall tell me what I can do
to help you.*'
" No one can help me now ! — Auguste
is dead!*' exclaimed the Cahet, and fresh
tears rained from his hollow eyes.
** Then you shall talk to me of this
Auguste," replied Giovanni, gently
urging him forward ; if you have no one
else to lament him with, I will grieve
with you.'*
Again the Cahet grasped the hem
to6 THE KNiGPit OF ST. JOHN.
of Giovanni's cloak, and glued liis lips
to it.
They entered the mountain-hollow to-
gether. When they had severally seated
themselves, Giovanni considered the poor
object before him with greater attention
and with the liveliest interest.
In him he saw, for the first time, one
of that mysterious race whom some un^
known calamity has scattered throughout
France, and degraded from their rank
and rights of men : a race which were
numerous in the first and middle ages,
but of which only a miserable remnant
now remains to perpetuate the injustice
of former centuries.
This proscribed race, known under
various opprobrious titles in different
provinces, have been alternatively sup-
posed the descendants of the conquered
Alans, of the Saracens, of the Visigoths :
nay, some writers have tried to find the
origin of their disgrace in hereditary
leprosy.
tHE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 307
In that chaos of nations and events
which renders the history of the tirst ages
but a wilderness of imaginations, nothing
satisfactory can be discovered respecting
their origin. We see only the frightful
facts of their being sold and transferred
as slaves with the land on which they
dwelt ; of intermixture with them being
considered an act of iniquity ; of their
banishment from the rites of sepulture
and sacrament ; of their being allowed
only the exercise of those employments
which would keep them aloof from towns,
and other society than their own*
Marked with disease, (perhaps the con-
sequence of scanty food, hopeless toil,
and continued intermixture with their
own cast,) this unhappy race form, even
now, as distinct a people, but, thank
God, a far less numerous people, than the
gipseys.
But bound to the soil on which they
are born ; not free, like them, to rove at
will ; they are doomed to endure the
808 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
same injuries from the same oppressors,
in age as in youth ; and thus they ac-
quire habits of unresisting endurance.
Objects of horror and aversion to every
other class of men, even two centuries
back, they could not question the justice
of their fate ; because they were then
as ignorant of its cause in remote anti-
quity, as they were who oppressed them :
still they felt its weiglit, groaned, and
submitted.
Giovanni had often pondered over the
possible source of this furious antipathy,
which still remained in all its strength,
when every trace of what might explain
(for nothing could justify it), was swept
from record and tradition. Rejecting
every other opinion, he believed, with
some acute writers, that in the heresy of
the Arian Visigoths lay the solution of
the difficulty. Once tainted with that
abhorred schism, the whole race would
be pronounced excommunicate, and shun-
ned accordingly.
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 309
This h^^othesis certainly wanted com-
pleteness ; as it did not account for the
gradual change which must afterwards
have taken place in their creed ; the Ca-
hets professing pure Catholicism : — and
how was that change to have been ef-
fected, seeing they were denied not only
intermixture by marriage with more or-
thodox Christians, but refused admittance
into their society ?
Giovanni, however, passed lightly over
the objection ; willing to gild a wretched
and despised race, with the long-set glo-
ries of the warlike Goths.
He now contemplated, as he thought,
one of their descendants in the person
of a timid slave ; and, marvelling at those
great reverses of fortune, which distin-
guish nations as much as individuals, he
drew from his pallid companion the little
history of his life.
It was a life of uniform dreariness ;
with much in it to corrode the sufferer's
heart, but little to mark a narrative.
810 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
Hodolphe was the last individual of
the only Cahet family which had for many
years remained on the estate of D*Ar-
mond ; he had lived, therefore, in pecu-
liar and joyless solitude from childhood
to manhood. Dwelling alone, shunned
by every other human being, he followed
his monotonous task of wood-cutting
during the summer ; and in winter shut
himself up from the wolves and the snows
in a mountain-hovel.
On Saints-days he stole into some
neighbouring church at a side-entrance
set apart for his unhappy cast ; and there,
Avhile he listened to the awful service,
feared to join his prayer or his praise,
with any of the crowd that shuddered
if his garments did but touch them in
passing.
He now described his return from those
pious exercises with a pathetic force
which pierced Giovanni's heart. The
mysterious horror with which he con-
sidered himself; the trembling awe with
15
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 311
which he regarded all that multitude of
persons so different from him in appear-
ance and in destiny ; and that continued
sensation of misery, which he painted as
having supplied in him the place of
thought; — all these were so many af-
fecting proofs, how easy it is to crush
the human spirit under a load of injustice
and superstition.
Education had not taught Rodolphe
to reflect ; nature, however, made him
feel. — He questioned not the justice of
whatever laws condemned him, in com-
mon with other Cahets, to ignominy and
wretchedness ; but submitting to his fate,
as to necessity, he never kifew complaint,
till he had enjoyed and lost comfort..
An accidental circumstance had first
caused a glimmering light to shine on his
mental gloom.
While cutting wood in the dell one
autumnal day, a boy six years old, who
had strayed from his foster-mother's cot-
tage, came to play there. Pleased v/ith
3l!2 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
the child's beauty and gaiety, the poor
Cahet suspended his labour to watch him
sporting among the rushes. While clam-
bering after a butterfly, the boy fell into
the river that ran below — Rodolphe
jumped in after him, seized, and saved
him.
Having borne him in his arms to the
hamlet from which he had strayed,
though Auguste's nurse received him as
if from the hands of a demon; Rodolphe
afterwards haunted the spot every morn-
ing and evening, till he saw the little
prattler again. Gratitude on the one
side, and on the other the love of that we
have served, were too powerful for re-
straint : Rodolphe could imitate every
bird in the forest ; and he gathered ber-
ries and blossoms, and laid them where
Auguste found them. Thus administering
to the gentle child's pleasures, his image
could not be coupled in his mind with
ideas of dread and disgust.
When, at last, the furious prejudices
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 313
of the villagers drove Rodolphe from
their door, Auguste learned to steal away
alone to the wood-cutter's cave ; and
then his pretty arts beguiled the mo-
ments, and " made a sun-shine in that
shady place.*'
This intercourse continued without in-
termission for two years, during which
time, the child became the man's in-
structor ; and having taught him to feel,
he soon taught him to think. Rodolphe
well remembered the change that was
wrought in him.
" Before I knew Auguste,'^ he said,
** I used to sit here alone, day after day —
dark winter-days, long winter-nights —
doing nothing but feeding my fire w^ith
fallen wood. Once I used to think
about my family that were dead — but
that was just after they died : years
passed, and 1 forgot to think ; and then
I used to feel as if I lived in my grave.
Something thick, and dark, and heavy,
was always before my eyes — or in my
VOL. I. p
3l4f THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
breast — or here in my head — I don't know
where it was — ^what it was — for I thought
of no one that had ever lived ; nor of any
thing that had ever been. — O, those
were horrid days !'*
.The pallid face of the Cahet took a
more deadly hue as he spoke. After a
suffocating pause he resumed : —
** Auguste changed all that. From
the moment I had him first in my arms,
I felt that every thing was altered : for
even then, he put his soft, red cheek
against mine j — he breathed gently on
my lips, because they were livid blue, and
he thought I must be cold — and he pro-
mised to love me dearly all his life — he
did not know I was a Cahet ! Ah well !
he knew it afterwards ; but he loved me
still y and no one could keep him from
me. He would come to me in the
wood, and sing me pretty songs, and
tell me pretty tales, and stick flowers in
my hair, and stroke my rough hands with
his delicate ones. O Auguste ! Auguste 1
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 315
never wilt thou nestle in my breast
again ! — never shall I feel thy sweet
breathing more ! never ! never !'*
The Cahet now sobbed aloud ; and his-
voice, quite subdued by grief, was no
longer audible.
" You lament a child thus ?" repeated
Giovanni, his own eyes dim with oppres-
sive sympathy. The Cahet bowed his
head in expressive silence, at length re-
suming, he said, —
*' Auguste was a little child, when first
we met ; but he grew so tall, and so sen-
sible, in two years ! He could read, and
make letters upon vellum, like a book ;
and he taught me to read ; he used to steal
his books out, and help me to read them :
80 after that, I never felt dark and heavy in
this cave ; for I could sit by my fire, and
repeat them word for word ; and think
over all my pretty Auguste had said or
done. — O how I was happy ! and he
taught me that word — I had never heard
it, till he said it to me."
p 2
316 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
" Nor ever felt it !" said Giovanni, in-
wardly sighing at the thought.
" But a Cahet is not born to be happy,"
resumed Rodolphe : " Auguste fell sick,
and I did not know it. I watched for
him in the woods, by the river, in all the
pathways ; I ventured to go near his
nurse's house ; still I saw him not. At
last she told me that he was taken home
to his father's in the town, and that he
was dying. Did I not run there ? Did
I not beg them, on my knees, to let me see
him only once again ? If they would have
told him — if they would have brought
me but a message from him! At last
they told me he was dead ; they drove
me away with stones and frightful words ;
they cursed me for loving Auguste ; they
said his death was a judgment, because
he had loved me ; they told me his inno-
cent soul would suffer for my sake, and
they mocked my agony."
A ghastly smile gleamed over the fea^
tures of the Cahet, and his lips moved
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 317
wildly for a while, though not articu-
lately. At length he smote his breast,
and with a thrilling cry exclaimed,
"O! if this arm had power! — if I
might ease the dreadful pain that's gnaw-
ing here! The pangs of thirst, of hunger,
of dreary loneliness, are not half so
strong. Might I be revenged!'*
Rodolphe trembled with the hideous
passions that now engrossed him : rage
and hatred glared in his fixed eye; he
shook his clenched hand, as if threaten-
ing some unseen object, while a horrid
groan convulsed his bosom.
At first Giovanni soothed him; then
proceeded to explain the sinfulness of
revenge, and the loveliness of returning
evil with good.
He reminded Rodolphe that those
persons who were most cruel to him, were
related to the object he loved so dearly,
therefore should be considered sacred on
that account ; that perhaps their injuri-
ous treatment was rather the effect of a
p 3
SI 8 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
grief more ungovernable than his own,
and that aggravated by superstition, than
the result of deliberate cruelty.
He then urged him to reflect that, ac-
cording to the religion they both pro-
fessed, he would more surely and worthily
manifest his fondness for Auguste, by
joining in the customary prayers for his
soul, than by committing acts of vio-
lence upon his kindred.
As he enforced this, Giovanni laid
aside his hat and cloak, inviting Ro-
dolphe to assist him in repeating the of-
fices for the dead.
Kneeling down before the cross on the
rude and almost grotesque altar, he re-
cited in a solemn voice, the service to
which he invited the Cahet. The un-
fortunate then sunk in silence beside
him : by degrees his countenance lost
its wildness, his movements their convul-
sive quickness, and his fast-streaming
tears announced the melting of his heart.
Never did Giovanni pray more fer-
mi: KNPGHT OF ST. JOHN. SlQ
vently. In the august chapel of the
Knights of St. John, surrounded by a
multitude of kindred spirits, and by all
the pomp and circumstance of cere-
monial worship, he had fek his soul
transported with holy rapture : in the
church of the Annonciata, during the
masses that were said over his father's
body, he had felt that soul awe-struck,
and anxious and earnest in its ad-
dresses to the Judge of men and an-
gels ; but never had he felt in such im-
mediate communion with his Creator as
now, when lifting up his heart and voice
to him, in a lonely desert, by the side of
a forlorn and sorrowful slave.
Their devotions ended, Giovanni and
Rodolphe arose : the latter was still
bathed in tears, increasing tears; but
they distilled in kindly showers, as if they
relieved his heart of all that weighed
upon its better purposes.
Frequently he caught Giovanni's hand,
kissed it, and held it against his heaving
p 4
3^0 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
side ; while Giovanni, with the gracious
look of a heavenly messenger, continued
to fortify him in patient submission, and
to describe that ineffable bliss which must
be the portion of a soul .unspotted by
the world.
His arguments had less effect than his
description of Auguste's beatitude : so
little power has reason over sensibility,
strongly roused ; and so necessary is it
to combat one passion by another.
In conformity with the precepts of
their religion, Giovanni taught him, that
there yet remained a means by which he
could testify his love to the innocent
child, now no more ; and in teaching
hiiii this, he opened to him a source of
enjoyment, and he animated him into
action.
Even that innocent soul would not, he
said, be deemed free from the imputed
guilt of our first father ; and for it,
therefore, the mass might be performed.
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 321
and the secret prayer offered, ^vith blessed
effect.
Thus soothed, thus led to stem his
own faulty impulses, for the sake of the
soul he lamented, Rodolphe, for the first
time in his life, made an effort which had
self-control for its object. Oh, sorrow,
what a teacher art thou !
Giovanni marked, and commended his
struggles ; and, promising to see him ere
he departed the next day, bade him a
kindly farewell.
As he slowly took his way homewards
to the convent where he was to sleep,
the past scene engrossed all his faculties ;
nothing outward, indeed, pressed upon
his attention: for, as if respecting his me-
ditations, nature had veiled herself in a
mist ; and, as he passed along, the mea-
dows and valleys, covered with its white
billows, presented no object to call forth
admiration.
Giovanni recollected the gay groups
he had met in those paths, not three
p 5
32^ TH]E KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
hours before ; and, contrasting them with
the wretched wood-cutter, he sighed over
their disproportionate destinies.
Connected with that poor wretch's
image, the happiness of these people ap-
peared monstrous ; it seemed the hilarity
of heartless selfishness : for were not these
the villagers who drove the Cahet from
their doors, and would have excluded
him, if possible, from their churches ?
" But why do I condemn them ?'* he
asked ; ** the blame falls on their in-
structors :" and he fixed his eyes on that
quarter where the towers of the abbey
rose, like an aerial edifice, above the float-
ing mists.
Giovanni felt the religious enthusiasm
of his times without their prejudices,
and his heart ached while remembering
all that he had heard and read of priestly
anathema against this unfortunate race.
Who in this province but himself, would
have entered a Cahet's hut, pressed his
14
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. SS8
hand, dried his tears, comforted, prayed
with him ?
As he asked himself this question, he
thanked Heaven that he had been born
in a country where none of these wretched
beings existed, and where the blind habit
of hatred to them, had not deafened even
superior minds to the pleadings of hu-
manity and reason !
He saw in a Cahet, one of the same
species with himself; one whom he was
led by natural instinct to pity ; and
whom he was bound to succour by the
vows he had taken when dedicating him-
self to the service of Heaven and of
mankind.
Obliged by the rules of his Order to
attend the sick, and wash the feet of
the poor, Giovanni felt no degradation,
when he knelt with the half-savage wood-
cutter before his rude altar ; and, habi-
tuated to consider himself still bound to
assist all his distressed fellow-creatures,
he was not sensible to any self-applause,
p 6
324 l^HE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
when resolving not to quit Guienne till
he should ameliorate or wholly change
this forlorn one's lot.
In this frame of mind, he reached the
abbey ; sought and obtained information
of the Count d' Armand, on whose estate
Rodolphe was born.
The next day, Giovanni went to wait
on him.
Whether his arguments, his persua-
sions, his gold, or his winning manner,
had most weight with a spendthrift cour-
tier, I leave courtiers to determine ; suf-
fice it, that when he took the river-path,
he carried with him the exulting power
of bestowing freedom.
The day was advanced, and the poor
Cahet was gone to his allotted task in
the forest. Giovanni found him there,
repeating the ineffectual blows of his
hatchet at long intervals, with an arm
nearly enfeebled.
He had been wandering, at day-break,
round the house that contained the
15
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 325
corpse of Auguste ; and had collected
there some withered flowers as they
were thrown from the windows of the
mournful chamber. He did not err
when he fondly fancied they had strewn
the body of his youthful friend.
During the progress of his labour,
these dismal flowers were only taken
from his breast, to press with his lips,
and water with tears. He displayed
them to Giovanni, telling him their his-
tory.
Giovanni took them in his hand, con-
sidered them with respect and tender-
ness, said some soothing words ; and
thus lightened the grief of Rodolphe by
appearing to share it.
In the desolation of Chis poor outcast,
and in the stormy excess of his sorrow,
there seemed a resemblance with the
situation and feelings of Cesario Adimari;
such, at least, as they were, when Gio-
vanni first saw him in the Palazzo Pub-
lico.
3^6 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
The comparison did but strengthen his
interest in the person before him. And
believing he saw in his violence of feel-
ing, one of those strong characters, on
whom nature bestows an extraordinary
capacity for happiness and virtue, he
flattered himself with the hope of here-
after building him up in both, by judi-
cious instruction.
His mild sympathy had already sooth-
ed his companion into details of his little
favourite's sportiveness and affection ;
when the deep toll of a bell was heard
over the wood-tops : at that sound, the
Cahet started up, uttered a piercing cry,
and fell upon the ground, like one de-
prived of sense.
Giovanni divined the cause of this
new agony. Doubtless, that bell an-
nounced the interment of Auguste.
Some pitying drops fell from his cheek
upon the livid face of Rodolphe, as he
raised him from the ground. The un-
happy man opened his eyes, (for anguish
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 3^7
alone had closed them,) and fixed them
with an expression of gratitude upon the
gracious countenance of Giovanni ; then
he groaned, and, closing them again,
threw himself back on the earth.
Giovanni would not urge the exhaust-
ed spirit beyond its strength : he suffered
Rodolphe to remain stretched in dumb
despair, while the bell continued to toll ;
and the funeral procession, (seen only
in their mind's eye,) was proceeding
from the town to the church of the
Benedictines.
As he contemplated the convulsed
figure of the Cahet, and listened to his
half-breathed groans, he marvelled at
the mysterious power which enables man
to enslave, not merely the body, but the
mind of his fellow-men.
What had been this poor Cahet's
strongest desire ? To follow those pre-
cious remains to their last rest ; to hear
the solemn rites performed for that
almost sinless soul j to watch, and weep.
328 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
by that newly-tenanted grave. Yet here
he lay groaning at a distance ; withheld
from joining the sad procession, — and by
what withheld? Life was a blank to
him ; death, the gate of Heaven : he
was a slave. Human malice could not
sink him lower, nor afflict him more. —
What then restrained him ?
Even that inexplicable somethings to
which we give the name of a broken
spirit ; but for which no name is ade-
quate ; no name is sufficiently expressive
of the shapeless horrors, the w^ild exag-
geration of the oppressor's power and
the sufferer's weakness, which constitute
its very essence.
Giovanni thought he had never, till
now, fathomed the utmost depths of
human misery and human degradation ;
and, yearning to restore this unoffending
creature to man's birthright of freedom,
comfort, and knowledge, he waited
anxiously for the moment, in which he
could make him sensible, that the paths
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 3^9
to these, were all open to him. *' I will
die !" were the first articulate sounds
the Cahet uttered, as he suddenly start-
ed from the ground, rolling round his
blood-shot eyes with a look of phrenzy
— *' They have buried him now. — and
what should I live for ?'*
** Live for the stranger that has sor-*
rowed with you !" said Giovanni, in a
tone of gentle reproach, laying his hand
upon Rodolphe's arm.
** For you ? 1 would die for you V*
exclaimed the poor forester, falling at
his feet with a softened countenance,
"but you are going far away ; and I —
am, like these trees, — fixed — fixed —
fixed."
" You may go whither you will/'
replied Giovanni : ** you are no longer
a slave.''
It was long ere he could make Ro-
dolphe comprehend the change that had
taken place in his fate : the magnitude
of it stupefied him.
330 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JO^^T.
But when his labouring naind at length
took in, not the full extent of- the bless-
ing gained for him, but only the extent
oi' his personal freedom, his gratitude
and joy amounted to delirium. He
passed, in a moment, from a paroxysm of
despair to one of rapture : even the re-
collection of Auguste was suspended in
his mind.
To live and die near his benefactor,
near the only one of his species, save a
little child, that had ever cast on him a
look of kindness; the ideal happiness
was almost beyond his power to bear:
and, sobbing like an infant, he would
have worshipped him who blessed him
thus, had not Giovanni's gentle rebuke
taught him where to direct his thanks-
givings.
When the replies to his wandering
questions informed Rodolphe that he
would accompany his benefactor into
other countries, amongst mixed multi-
tudes, his joy faded : he cast his eyes
THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 331
upon the clear mirror of the river, and,
shuddering at " the imperfect fashion of
man" there reflected, compared it, by a
speaking glance, with the rare perfection
of Giovanni's proportions.
He did not speak, but that piteous
look needed no interpreter.
Giovanni understood it : he hastened
to say, that in the country where he
wished to remove him, the very name of
his proscribed race was known only to
the learned or the traveller ; that, con-
sequently, he would mix on equal terms
with persons of his own condition : that
his livid complexion and feeble limbs
would change into health and vigour by
wholesome food and considerate care,
and that he would have, besides, in Gio-
vanni, a friend able and willing to protect
him against insult.
The simple Cahet listened as to an
oracle, his wishes giving force to each
benevolent argument.
Ere Giovanni quitted him, he had
S3Q THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN.
promised to be in waiting on the by-road
to Italy, by day-break the next morning.
Giovanni concluded that he would
visit the grave of Auguste during the
night, and he wished not to impose any
restraint on a sorrow so legitimate.
Yet he could have gone and wept with
him ; so truly did he lament the early
death of a child, whose uncommon
energy and sensibility augured such a
noble maturity.
Even in that event, however, he saw
the gracious hand of Providence ; which,
depriving Rodolphe of so feeble an as-
sistance, had caused him to excite the
compassion of one competent to change
his wretchedness to comfort.
Rodolphe passed that night in the
church-yard of the Benedictines. His
lamentations no mortal ear heard ; his
agony, no mortal eye witnessed : ibr who
had loved the beauteous clay that rested
there, like the unhappy Cahet? — to
THE KNIGHT Of ST. JOHS. 333
whom was Auguste any thing, save to
him?
He returned no more to his cave. —
An osier-basket held all his property: this
consisted of a few miserable garments ;
the spars which had decorated his shrine j
a rosary ; and a mutilated missal ; all the
gifts of Auguste. In his breast, he
hoarded the flowers he had found under
the window of that dear child, and the
sod he had taken from his grave.
With these treasures — for they were
such to him — he met Giovanni in a by-
path beyond the town ; and, joining his
small suite, quitted France, with him, for
ever.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
Printed cy A.S:rahan,
Printers-Sireet, London.